


blood red shiraz will wash through these slate grey streets

by MatildaSwan



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Bisexual Female Character, Dancing, Elinor Lives, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Physical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Kid Fic, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Pregnancy, Serial Murder, Tag warning changes dramatically for the epilogue, Violence, f/m ships are relevant to narrative and not much else, female victims, maximum hand holding, references to graphic violence against women, women falling in love while they plot to bring down a serial murderer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9091345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatildaSwan/pseuds/MatildaSwan
Summary: Serena Campbell, PI. The Dame Detective: brilliant, intelligent, and self-assured. Serena thinks she knows the score and every trick in the book. Until one day her door opens and in walks the longest set of legs she has seen in her life. Thankfully they are attached to a person: a blonde with high cheekbones and a neck every bit as long as the legs. Her name is Berenice Wolfe: wealthy and engaged and in need of someone outside of the old boys club. Serena agrees to take on her case and things will never be the same for either of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by an amazing gifset created by @krakazooom which you can find here: http://krakazooom.tumblr.com/post/154854539046/berena-x-film-noir-au
> 
> I've foregone American-specific prohibition but as far as I'm concerned dive bars and seedy nightclubs are the place to be in British noir.

Serena Campbell makes her way home after a long night of debauchery and detective work as the sun rises over Holby City: cement grey of the streets gleaming in the early morning rays. Last night's score of candids and confessions has certainly earned her a healthy pay check. She enters her apartment block, grip firm on her camera, and trudges up the flight of stairs to her office.

The door reads _Campbell & Associates_: cursive etched into the frosted glass. It is all a ruse, of course, the business is just her. A fact she is always thankful for on mornings like this: when she put her camera safely on the desk and ends up stubbing her toe for her troubles, when she drops the heaviest of last nights clothing on the floor and simply pulls the bed out over the top, when she falls against the wall on her way to the kitchen to drink some water before she sleeps. 

She drinks alone most nights: just her, not even a secretary. And why should she need one? Serena can do her own damn paperwork. She was after all, the best secretary Holby Police Department had ever had before she had gotten sick of being on the of the bottom rung and beneath men: struck out on her own and started climbing. Climbs into bed, shuffles under the blankets and sinks into the mattress.

She knows what her former department thinks of her, “Dame detective,” they sneer over scotch. “Thinks herself smart, thinks herself a copper - asking questions like she can tell us how to do our jobs.” She never worried about them much, knowing her skills were enough to keep her job despite her attitude towards the men around her.

She knows what she thinks of her former department: not a lot. Though she thinks of Robbie from time to time. Especially on mornings like this, getting home early after a late night in order to get to work on time. She thought Robbie had been different, been better than the others. He had certainly seemed different, encouraging her to seeing things critically and seeking her input on cases. She had been thrilled when he asked for her at work, for her company after work, for her company in his bed. Serena had loved being with him, thought she might even love him. 

Then she overheard Robbie one day, delivering some files to his office. “Too much mouth to be pretty in a skirt,” he had said. “But what a mouth!” he had added, boasting to the handful of buddies filling the space in his office. Serena had swanned through the door and dropped the stack of paperwork on Robbie’s desk, piercing him with a stare that left him gawping like a goldfish long after she had turned tail back towards the bullpen. She had resigned that day and never looked back. 

Serena falls asleep thinking she had always been happier in pants anyway. 

 

*

 

Serena wakes to the ring of her alarm clock feeling definitely the worse for wear. She fights the urge to throw the thing across the room and rubs her face instead. She considers going back to sleep but remembers why the alarm was set in the first place: she has a meeting with one of her clients in an hour. 

Serena sighs and swings herself out of bed, flips it back into the wall. Gets dressed with a reasonable degree of efficiency and makes herself some toast. Crunching on her crust she sits at her desk and pulls out the appropriate file. It is thin but its content certainly pack a punch. She starts organising its contents: undeniable proof of a cheating spouse.

Serena is sorting through negatives when there is a knock at the door. It is gentle: three short taps so soft she barely hears them. She looks up anyway, knows someone is there: she can see the figure standing on the other side of the door through the frosted glass. She closes the file and puts it to one side. Settles back into her chair, gathers her hands in front of her and calls out an authoritarian “Come in!”

The door opens and in walks the longest set of legs Serena has seen in her life. Thankfully they are attached to a person: a blonde with high cheekbones and a neck every bit as long as the legs. A plunging neckline frames sharp collarbones: flowing dark silk billows out from a tightly cinched waist. Thin figure hugged by a white coat, black and white hems both brushing the knee. The woman wrings her hands in front of herself, purse trapped between her side and elbow. Serena cannot help noticing the long slender fingers and the jewel shining on her ring finger. 

“Hello,” she is slightly breathless but her voice is low and warm. “I’m looking for Serena Campbell, Private Investigator?” 

“Yes, that’s me.” Serena smiles, sinks into the chair slightly as she drinks in the woman.“And who might you be? **”**

The woman blinks, nibbles her bottom lip before answering.

“Berenice Wolfe.” 

“Well Ms. Wolfe, what brings you to my office?”

“I - um - I have a problem, and, um, I’d like to hire you - if you’re amenable.” Serena nods, gestures to the empty chair across the desk. The blonde sits, folding her long limbs under the desk. Stares at the desk beneath a long floppy fringe and continues. “It’s my fiancé, you see. I, um, I think he might be - I think he might have…” 

Serena can see the way this conversation is going. “My fiancé is cheating on me” or “my husband is having an affair.” Knows there will be pause before she hears “I think there is another woman - can you help me, can you find her?” Serena has heard this dozens, maybe even hundreds, of time times by now. After all this is her bread and butter. Housewives and socialites with a blemish on their perfect life are the reason she can pay her rent: her livelihood rests with women who enjoy the novelty of a female detective.

Serena is already preparing her acceptance spiel. “Photographs are the standard affair if you want to the lawyers involved.” In this instance she thinks it would be best if she adds “do be wary of a scandal, though, these things can get ugly,” before going into to prices. “My retainer is _this_ much, up front, and _this_ is my going rate and you cover that plus expenses on completion.” 

Serena is preparing to say “thank you very much please sign this contract and I’ll have what you need in next to no time.” Serena thinks this is simple, run of the mill, that she has heard all this before. Serena is most certainly not prepared for what falls out of the blonde’s mouth. 

“I think he’s going to kill me.” 

The panic in Berenice’s eye is obvious. Serena’s heart thumps in her chest.

“I’m sorry?" 

Serena can see the quiver in Berenice’s throat as she takes a deep breath, shuddering slightly before steeling herself.

“I keep hearing rumours - no, _reports_ \- of women that have been…hurt… and found in alley ways.” She finally looks at Serena, looks her dead in the eye. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes,” a chill runs through Serena. “I’m familiar with the cases.” 

She has most certainly heard about those women: heard the rumours, read the newspaper reports, called in favours for detailed police files. Women sliced and diced with the precision of a surgeon then left bleeding in gutters across Holby City. Six in all, over the past several months. No survivors, no witnesses, no suspects. 

“What are you trying to say Ms. Wolfe?”

“I’m not _saying_ anything, it's just - I’m worried. I think that maybe it might, that maybe Marcus -“ she breaks off.Tears well in her eyes and her breath catches.“I think it’s Marcus - I think he’s dangerous and I think I’m on his list.”

Serena remembers all the victims have been blonde. All tall. All thin. All local. Her stomach twists.

“Have you raised your concerns to the authorities?”

“God, no!” Berenice barks, trailing into a sickening wet laugh. “It’s not like I have any proof, its just something I…, and God help me, he—” she breaks off for a moment, shuddered breath. “Marcus is from a very well connected family, he has friends in high places,” her voice cracks as she explains. “Whitehall, the foreign office, even the bloody local police department! And with my father stationed overseas the only person I’ve got is me.” 

“I need someone outside of the old boys club.” Bernie’s eyes are wide and desperate, pupils blown with fear and rimmed in red. “I need you.” Serena feels her heart lurch in her chest. “Please Ms. Campbell,there’s no one else I can turn too. Will you help me?”

Serena flips through the ramifications of what taking on this case would be, of what helping this woman might mean. If this woman is right, God help her, this is way beyond her service fee. If Serena pokes at the wrong hornet’s nest without proof then she might just be signing herself up to her own homicide and she has no interest is dying any time in the near future. If this woman is wrong, if she is simply hysterical and deluded and getting worked up over nothing, and Serena embarrasses herself on such a grand scale she is signing away her career. 

Serena looks Berenice, dishevelled and frantic: face framed by whips of hair plucked free by anxious fingers with a fringe as messy as the bun on top of her head.Serena simply cannot leave this woman in distress, not when she is so clearly terrified for her life. When Serena speaks her voice is measured and firm, despite the thumping in her chest. 

“I’d be glad to.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my buddie Aubergine for proofing my work

Unfortunately Serena has a meeting with another client due any minute. She opens her mouth to suggest Berenice comes back the next afternoon when there is a sharp rap at the door. Berenice launches to her feet and knocks the chair over in the process, hand on her heart as her head snaps towards the sound. Her breathing is laboured and frantic. Serena starts and reaches out to her as she stands.

“Nothing to worry about, it’s just my next client,” trying to sooth as she walks around her desk.

“Oh, of course,” Berenice turns back, looking stricken at her behaviour: haunted light back in her eyes. Snaps open her purse and draws out a cigarette case; snaps that open and long fingers draw out a smoke and place it between pursed lips. “I’ll be going then,” she mumbles around the cigarette.

She stays where she is standing, rummaging through her bag for a lighter before giving giving up. She signs, drops the cigarette back in the case, drops the case back in her bag. Berenice snaps the bag shut and keeps looking at the ground.

Serena considers pointing out the lighter sitting in plain view on the desk but thinks better of it. She recognises a nervous tick when she sees one and a lit cigarette will not change that fact that Berenice is ball of nerve. More than that, she is obviously petrified at the thought of being by herself again. Serena’s heart thumps uncomfortably in her chest. 

“This meeting shouldn’t take long,” she finds herself saying. “It’s my only one for the day,” she explains. “If you haven’t got any plans for this afternoon we could talk more today? There is a cafe on the corner of the next block if you fancy some tea?” 

Berenice looks up with a smile: small and relieved. How it also manages to be completely and utterly disarming Serena does not know and her stomach flutters at the sight. Berenice nods and keeps smiling.

“Brilliant, I’ll meet you there when I’ve wrapped things up here.” Serena places a hand in small of Berenice’s back, guiding her towards the door. Tries to ignores the thumping in her ribcage as best she can. “After all there is still my fee to discuss.”

 

*

 

Serena’s meeting goes about as well as could be expected. The client, a disgruntled wife certain her husband was unfaithful is, it turns out, completely correct. Unfortunately, that is not the actual answer the client wants to hear and Serena has a paperweight thrown at her head for her troubles.

Serena shakes her head, wonders why people ask questions they never actually want answers to. 

It takes what feels like eons to properly defuse the situation. The woman passes through anger and hysterics while Serena watches thinking of unsmoked cigarettes the whole time. Finally her client resigns herself to the truth — Serena finds that the irrefutable proof of photographic material often has that effect on people — calms down enough to actually talk again. If Serena just so happens to rushes through the details of case it has everything to do with efficiently wrapping up this shambolic interaction in a profession manner. Nothing at all to do with a woman waiting for her in a coffee shop, obviously.

After ensuring she is paid with interest, additional charges she feels are completely warranted given the woman’s little outburst, Serena guides the client out of her office. She close the door with a firm slam and hears her wine cellar calling to her. What she would do for a bottle of red right this moment. Then she looks at the time and realises Berenice left her office almost an hour ago. Ignores the call of the wine. She grabs her jacket and keys and pulls the door closed behind her.

 

*

 

She walks brusquely towards the cafe, the soles of her shoes flat on the pavement. She absently wonders if Berenice had gotten tired of waiting for a stranger and left. Thinks she might had thought better of the whole thing and gone home instead. If that is the case then she might never see the blonde again. Serena worries; she need not have. 

She peers in through the extremely large window of the cafe as she walks past: stops when she sees Berenice. She is staring at the empty booth in from of her, still wrapped in a white coat: profile sharp and wide. Serena cannot help just looking as the late afternoon sun catches the gold in her hair and it gleams. Serena watches as a waitress brings Berenice a fresh cup of coffee. Is still watching as the waitress stays to chat, sees Berenice become slightly more animated and politely talkative.

Serena realises she has been outright staring at woman she just met while standing on a street corner. Realises she has been has been for at least a minute. She shakes herself from her daze, walks into the cafe and straight over to the booth. 

“Sorry, to keep you waiting Ms. Wolfe. That took longer than expected.” She says as she slide into the booth. “Could I get a coffee, strong and hot,” she asks the waitress, effectively bringing their conversation to an end. Thinks she might have been a bit sharp and adds a quick “please?” 

The waitress just nods and walks away. 

“It’s quite alright,” Berenice smiles. “Oh, what happened to your head?” She reaches across the table to brush her finger against the redness on Serena’s forehead. The warmth emanating from those fingertips on Serena’s skin is definitely just the tenderness of a newly forming bruise.

“Unhappy client,” Serena explains and the blonde frowns. “With the results of my investigation, not my methods,” Serena assures her.

“Does that happen often?” The concern in her voice as obvious as the curiosity. 

“Not often, but more frequently that I’d like.”

The waitress returns, coffee in hand. Serena thanks her and takes a sip, grimaces at the taste but relishes the warmth. Allows herself a few moments to enjoy the warm mug in her hand before launching into business. Places the mug in the saucer before pulling a notebook and pen out of her coat pocket. 

“Can you tell me about Marcus’s schedule?” she asks and Berenice nods. 

Berenice starts running through what she can remember of Marcus’s day to day activities, adding snippets about his colleagues and his friends as she goes. Alternates between talking and lapsing into silence before perking up again when Serena prompts her. Serena can see the tension unfurling from the other woman’s shoulders as they formulate a crude itinerary of the rest of Serena’s week.

Eventually Berenice completely runs out of steam and Serena rereads through her notes. She wrinkles her forehead in concern. If this collection of names is accurate then Berenice was right: the man is extremely well connected and Serena needs to be careful. Berenice needs to be careful.

They finish their drinks and put their cups to one side. Berenice orders a pot of tea when the waitress comes to clear the table.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Berenice asks, almost an after thought. 

“Absolutely not,” Serena smiles.

The waitress comes back with a pot and two cups and Berenice pours for the two of them. The mood shifts and they start chatting between sips: no longer concerned with business but rather the weather. Serena is not a fan of it lately but Berenice is. She loves the way spring is cold and warm and wet and dry all at the same time. She also loves the chill at dawn and the way the city wakes slowly with the sun and is most certainly a morning person; polar opposite of Serena’s love of dusk and midnight and not waking before midday. 

They move on to other topics of conversation that have no real consequence. Serena has no desire to mention anything that might prompt that panicked look in Berenice’s eyes. Notes Berenice does the same as they talk through cups of tea. Berenice asks what she thought of _Gone with the Wind_ but Serena has yet to see it. Probably never will. Serena hates the cinema, all that dark and noise. Berenice likes it but thinks the theatre is even better. Serena had never heard of last play Berenice had seen but wishes she had when the blonde’s face lights up as she starts describing the costumes.

They talk till they finish the pot and they talk while the waitress clears their table again. Berenice’s social circle is vastly different Serena’s but they are both ambivalent about people: neither have many friends but they know a lot of people. Berenice finds that infinitely useful at parties and Serena thinks the same when it comes to drinking. 

They are still talking when the waitress brings them their bill. Berenice grew up on an estate in the countryside just outside of Holby. Large house and mostly empty, what with her father away so often and her mother passing early. Had a cat when she was a girl but always loved her father’s dogs: a pair of dalmatians called Spick and Span. Serena grew up in the city, had a hamster for a few months before it ran away. She suspects it was eaten by the stray cats she secretly fed when her mother was not looking.

They are still talking as the sun starts to set and the traffic in the cafe picks up. The dinner rush starts and eventually they notice the time.

“Oh, Lord! It’s so late” Berenice exclaims. “I’m so sorry, I have plans for this evening and I really must be going.” She looks genuinely crestfallen to leave. “Thank you for the company though, it’s been lovely.” The smile she flashes Serena is blinding. “Um, when should I see you next?”

Serena usually waits to arrange a meeting when she has something concrete and she rarely has anything interesting to report to her clients before a fortnight has past. 

“Next week, please,” falls out of her mouth. “Same time, if that suits.”

Serena watches the other woman shuffles out of the booth and straightens out those long limbs. Berenice drops some change on the table before clutching her purse in slender fingers. Serena watches her as she walks out of the cafe, sees her hails a cab and drive away.  Serena adds some change to the pile but stays seated. Finally clambers out of the booth when she notices the waitress walking towards her. 

She walks back towards the office in the early evening air. Opens a bottle of shiraz as soon as she lets herself in and waits a few minutes before pouring. Picks up the novel she left on the kitchen counter last Friday. Sits at her desk and turns to the right page, swallows a heady mouthful of red and starts reading. She finishes the chapter before she realises they never discussed her fee.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos so far! Y'all are the best <3
> 
> CW: There is a bit more attention paid to the serial murders than previous. While it is still v bland I'd like to remind everyone that this fic does include graphic violence against women, and also mentions of dead bodies and implied body horror.

Serena wakes early the next morning. Well, early for her in any case. Sorts through her work load before focusing on Berenice’s case and starts reviewing the files she has on the serial murders. She forces herself to take notes as she categorises the injuries sustained by each victim. Notices there is no discernible patterns involved except for the early morning discovery of each body: the period between each victim fluctuates between two weeks and two months, and each victim was found in a different part of the city at various points in the week. Serena feels sick to her stomach when she realises not one of the victims had been reported missing. Not one of them had been gone long enough to be missed before being found dead in gutters. There is bile in the back of her throat by the time she finishes reading the most recent report.

Just to be thorough she calls a friend at the police department to see if there has been updates in the month that passed since Serena acquired the latest file. Morven had joined the typing pool the year Serena had been assigned to oversee the new recruits. Serena had noticed how clever and hard-working the young woman was and had taken an instant liking to her. Serena had taken Morven under her wing as she began navigating the department and they stayed friends long after they ceased to be colleges.

Morven is thrilled to hear from Serena and the conversation Serena had planned to have gets waylaid when Morven starts raving about an officer that had recently joined the Holby Police force. Morven is obviously smitten and Serena vows to get all the details next time they get a chance to catch up. But Serena cannot forget why she called in the first place and she switches back to business. After a few pointed questions Morven reveals the rather disappointing fact that the squad working on the case has made absolutely no progress. Serena had assumed that would be the case but still feels rather resigned after the call ends.

Then her stomach begins to rumble and she realises that midday has already ticked past. She packs up the files and has lunch, pushing Berenice’s case to the back of her mind. She has read all she can for the moment and cannot start tailing Marcus until Monday. He has spent a long weekend at a friend’s country estate — his absence the reason Berenice had sought her out when she did — and he is not due back till late Sunday evening.

After lunch Serena turns her attention to the rest of her afternoon. She walks out into the Saturday sunshine and runs herself ragged wrapping up a few open cases. Captures the progression of a seemingly innocent coffee date to hotel room on one side of town before heading to the other side of Holby to meet with a contact. Is pleasantly surprised whenFletch, a jack of all trades with his fingers in a lot of pies, gives her exactly the right information for once rather than the normal rambling banter. Makes her way home and works in the darkroom for a few hours. Rummages through the images and sorts them into the appropriate files until the sun starts. Slips into something for the evening and heads out again.

She spends that evening in a dive bar watching a mark. Her client had given normal standing order, snapping photographs of adultery in action, but unlike most of Serena’s cases her target is the woman involved. A willowy blonde with calculating eyes: a woman with a wedding ring hidden in her purse, an oblivious husband, and a very envious sister. The sister, Serena’s client, is set to inherent half of the family’s estate when their father dies in the very near future. Except the sister has her eyes on getting the whole lot, and found a clause in the will that would disinherit either daughter in the event of “besmirching the family’s good name”. She hired Serena to find something to prompt a divorce, something Serena most definitely found.

Serena buries her face in whisky while she listens to the woman and her banker boyfriend flirt and giggle and touch under the table. The brief brushes of fingers against knees eventually take a more serious tone and they make a hasty exit, Serena in tow. She snaps a few candids of the two snogging in the alleyway before slipping away. And if the sight of a tall thin blonde getting ravished against a wall makes Serena's checks flush and her heart beat just that little bit faster it is just the whisky and the cold night air.

Serena trudges home, satisfied and weary and falls into a deep sleep.

 

*

 

Serena wakes up on Monday at some point before midday. Spends a few hours developing negatives from the last week and lets them dry as she eats lunch.She finishes eating and checks the time. According to Berenice, Marcus’s classes are due to finish in half an hour so she refills her camera roll and heads out into the city.

She is sitting on a park bench just outside of the campus when Marcus leaves the grounds. She follows at a distance towards a whisky bar to meet up with friends. Sits in the other corner of the bar to overhear them talking but none of them say anything of interest. She follows him as he leaves for a meeting over dinner which turns out to be at a gentleman’s club. Serena once again curses the exclusively male syndicate that controls Holby City and the rest of the bloody world. Hails a cab instead of walking home.

Obviously she does not spend all her time on Berenice’s case: she has a meeting with a client on Wednesday afternoon,another two the day after that. Plus, she needs to start cashing her checks and banks take forever to do anything in her experience.Nonetheless Marcus does get the bulk of her attention over the next week and if a certain blonde occupies a large space in Serena’s thoughts that week as well it is simply professional concern.

She waits for Marcus to finish dinner on the second night and is unimpressed when he leaves for home reasonably early and barely drunk. Waits for him the next two nights; watches him go home like clockwork only to do the exact same thing the next day. Serena follows him from classes to drinks to dinner: the same events, every day, the only changes present in the venues he frequents and company that joins him.

It is the company that interests Serena, more than anything. They really are remarkable. She quickly figures out which friends of Marcus’s will talk to her is she approaches them: absolutely none. Well connected men rarely betray their mates to a skirt asking too many questions. But while some of his friends are as repetitive and plain as Marcus others are reasonably interesting. One seems to be attempting to worm his way into public office using less than legal techniques. Another is swindling from his father’s business to settle some gambling debts. Serena catches another of the group in an alleyway with a mate’s girlfriend one night; sees a different friend in a doorway with his chum a few days later. Serena snaps a few photographs in case they come in useful and puts those titbits away for rainy day.

As the week wears on it becomes evident that Marcus is really a very boring man. A boring man who has plain conversations and leads a very well structured life, which is simply another way of saying boring as far as Serena is concerned. His boring day to day schedule is so full and repetitive there is no space to do something worthwhile like have a sleep in, let alone something horrific like abducting woman. Berenice appears to be engaged to what could possibly be one of the plainest men in England and there is nothing untoward in his life for Serena to find.

This worries Serena more than it ought to. Which is odd, because if Serena is right then Marcus is harmless and does not have a kill list with Berenice’s name on it; a good thing, obviously. It also means that whatever has Berenice so frightened appears to be something Serena cannot help her with. Somehow that thought is worse than if Berenice was in some sort of obvious danger and Serena’s stomach twists so fiercely she almost cries.

 

*

 

Friday arrives and with it their meeting that afternoon. Serena wakes long before her alarm with a warmth in her stomach and disjointed images of golden hair and long legs playing behind her eyelids. She shakes herself awake: shakes the dream and the ache away too.

Serena starts typing up her findings, hoping that Berenice will take the news better in writing. Realises that slipping in a service form and contract in with her notes will make broaching the topic of payment much smoother. She tries not to think about why she has put so many hours what is currently a pro bono case, just like she tries not to think about the smile that pulls at her lips whenever she remembers another flash of this morning’s dream.

She is staring at the corner of a room smoking a cigarette, legs up on the table, when she hears the same soft tapping on the door as the week before. Berenice lets herself in before Serena has a chance to call out, poking her head around the door to see if it is alright to come in. Serena smiles as she puts her feet on the ground and puts out her cigarette; waves her inside, exhaling through the nose. Berenicefolds herself into the chair without prompting and smiles at Serena.

“Well, as you know this investigation is early days,” Serena starts and Berenice’s face falls immediately: she knows what Serena is about to say. “I’ve yet to see anything worrying about your fiancé.” Serena passes over over the file; it stays unopened in Berenice’s hand.

Silence falls, long and heavy. Berenice sits, staring intently as the desk, tight smile and glassy eyes. Serena looks at everything in the room but the woman in front of her. Seconds tick by until Serena has a thought.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Serena starts, changing tact and going out on a limb,“If you really don’t want to marry him then why don’t you just break off the engagement?”

“You think I’m making this up?” Berenice looks up at Serena and the hurt in her eyes is obvious.

“No, of course not,” Serena is firm despite the fact that it looks like Berenice might, in fact, be imagining a connection between Marcus and the murders that simply is not there. “It’s just I haven’t found anything that would condemn him and get you out of the engagement. Which I gather is the desired outcome here, right?” Serena asks, hoping to find more information and Berenice nods. “So why not think about just breaking off the engagement?”

“I know that’s sensible, but its really not an option. I’m wealthy - well, my father is really - good connections and a long service record. But Marcus, he knows everyone, you saw, and his family knows everyone. And the engagement has been so public the whole time I really haven’t got the option of breaking things off with him. And if he really isn’t doing what I think he…I’ll just have to do my best to make a go of it.”

Serena’s heart breaks a little inside her chest at the sound of Berenice’s resigned voice. She really is trapped, completely and utterly and Serena cannot do a thing to help her. Not yet, at any rate.

“Well you know, there are other ways to deal with this sort of thing,” she says evenly and calculating. “Engineer something, make the scandal about him. Adulterous seduction works well in my experience.”

“Absolutely not,” Berenice’s voice is firm. “No one else needs to get hurt.”

Serena cannot say anything in response to that, and they lapse back into silence. It gets thicker as Serena stares as Berenice staring at the floor, half her fringe falling from its pins to cover her eyes. Serena has to look away.

“Look, I’ll give you a few minutes to read through the file,” Serena says, excusing herself from the room.

She retreats to the kitchen for a few minutes. She can hear the rustle of papers as Berenice reads for a few minutes, then the snap of Berenice’s clutch followed by the scratching of pen on paper.

Serena walks back into the front room to find Berenice perched on the edge of her desk. There is something in her eye, something new, like she sees something in the folder Serena is missing. Or so Serena assumes, given that Berenice is holding a pen in one hand and a check in the other and obviously wants Serena to continue her investigation.

“Ah, yes, formalities. My fee—” Berenice cuts Serena off by passing over a blank check.

“Whatever you need, Ms. Campbell.”

“You haven’t even heard to the pitch yet. I could take all your life savings.”

“Well that would be quite fitting given you are saving my life,” Serena’s eyes budge in her head. “But no bank would cash a cheque for that kind of money. So, it really be quite impossible.”

Serena wonders exactly what kind of woman she had thrown her lot in with as she plucks the pen out of her hand. She bends down beside the blonde and notices the silk of her dress pulled taut against her thigh. Writes her normal fee in the empty space before holding it up for Berenice to see. “Is that acceptable?

The blonde crinkles her nose slightly as she reads. “Yes, of course,” she smiles. Serena walks around the desk and puts the check in her top draw.

“Ms. Wolfe—” she starts before Berenice interjects.

“Please, stop being so formal,” she flaps her hand slightly. “call me Bereni—” she cuts herself off. “Call me Bernie,” she says with a smile. There is a gleam in her eye that sets Serena’s skin on fire.

“Bernie,” two short syllables: they roll off her tongue and make her mouth feel thick. Serena sticks out her hand, “In that case, call me Serena.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have something to take your minds off that devastating lastest ep. Also thank you to @mylittleredgirl who helped me wrap this chapter up :)
> 
> CW: implied domestic violence
> 
> Picks up immediately after the last section ends.

“Serena, do you have plans for tomorrow evening?” Bernie starts and Serena perks up. “If you’re free would you…I’d like it if, um, could you—” Bernie breaks off, nibbles on her bottom lip before taking a sharp breath in through the nose. “Marcus and I having dinner tomorrow night and I’d like you to be there,” she blurts out before taking a deep breath. Serena blinks as unexpected disappointment gurgling in her stomach. “In the restaurant, I mean, um, watching _us_.”  
****

Serena realises that despite having watched the man for the majority of the past week, she has yet to actually _see_ Marcus interact with his fiancée. Serena agrees, thinking that maybe this way she can catch a glimpse of what spooked Bernie about him in the first place. 

“Brilliant,” Bernie says. Spies Serena’s note book on the table and grabs it, scribbling down the restaurant’s name. “Um, ask for a table along the far left wall. We always sit at the same table and you’ll be able to see us - him - that way.”

“Great idea, I’ll make the reservation this evening.” Serena links her fingers together in front of her, assuming their meeting has drawn to a close. She expects Bernie to excuse herself and leave but the blonde seems strangely reluctant to move. She keeps leaning against the desk, fingers fidgeting in her lap and flicking her eyes around the walls of Serena’s office. As if Bernie wants to stay. 

And Serena wants her to as well, she does not want Bernie to leave just yet. So Serena asks Bernie how she is, how her day has been and has she been doing over the past week. Bernie smiles and stops fidgeting. Starts by saying she is well, of course, before launching into long rambling sentences about her week spent maintaining the family fortune and keeping up with her father’s contacts and hands of bridge and taking breathers on balconies whenever she gets the chance.

Serena can barely keep up with what Bernie is saying but smiles anyway, enamoured by the way Bernie’s nose crinkles when she starts recounting the last book she read and the way her fridge flops when she starts talking with her hands. They chat as easily as they did the week before, jump from topic to topic. 

Serena starts describing a particularly nice sunset she saw the other week and Bernie lifts herself up and plants herself firmly on the desk, making herself as comfortable as possible. Serena eyes the chair by Bernie’s knees and considered doing the same. Silence falls as Serena sinks into the chair and looks up into Bernie’s impossibly brown eyes and smiles. Bernie looks down at her and smiles back at her and a warmth spreads through Serena as a blush rises in Bernie’s cheeks. The silence continues until Bernie ducks her heads, breaking the moment. Serena thinks this might be the most comfortable she has ever felt in her life as they keep chatting about everything and anything and nothing as the afternoon wears on. 

Eventually Bernie looks at the time and gasps. “God, I’ve taken up your whole afternoon, I’m so sorry! You’ve probably got mounds of works to do and here I am prattling away.”

“It’s perfectly alright,” Serena says. “I enjoy your company.”

“Umm, thank you.” Bernie beams and looks down at the floor. “I like yours too I’d best be going.” Bernie talks so fast she blurs the last sentiments into one and Serena cannot quite keep up enough to comment on both.

“Of course,” responding to the latter. “I’ll see you next week,” she says resolute. Like seeing each other is a given, despite the fact that they have yet to discuss the possibility of another meeting. Bernie nods and grins and closes the door behind her.

 

*

 

Serena knows from experience that it looks less conspicuous to have company while dining out so she called in a favour for some polite company. Ric knows the score, know dinner is not really _dinner._ He is content to just sit and chat at Serena, providing some cover as Serena subtly watches the blonde and her fiancé. Assuming Serena will pick up the tab, of course. 

Serena is clad in her glad-rags when Ric picks her up his Topolino. They arrive at the restaurant and the maitre d’ sits them along the wall, perfect view of the currently empty table a row over and three down: presumably the table where Bernie and Marcus always sit. They waitstaff quickly come to take their order and Serena has started on her bottle of shiraz when she spies Bernie’s unmistakable head of shambolic curls out of the corner of her eyes.

Marcus is right behind her, hand resting level with the middle of Bernie’s but not quiet touching. He draws her chair out like a gentleman; tucks her in with perfectly chivalry. What more could a socialite want? Serena thinks. Bernie sits with her back to Serena, like they discussed. Marcus sits with his face towards Serena, like they planned. Serena gets a good look of his face looking at Bernie and suddenly she is on edge.

She stays there whole night, tense and worried. She is tense while Ric enjoys his dinner and she picks at hers. She is tense while Bernie and Marcus finish their meal and order dessert. She knows her concern is unwarranted, that Bernie is perfectly safe: they are in public and there is a table between the two of them. She knows their conversion is perfectly bland and very polite, she can hear snippets of it over the din of the restaurant. She knows that Marcus has neither said nor done a single thing to warrant Serena’s concern. 

Nevertheless Serena is concerned. She is worried. She is _scared,_ for Bernie: for her safety and on her behalf. There is something about the way Marcus is holding himself now, around Bernie, that is so very different to what she has seen the past week. There is something in the way Marcus looks at Bernie that makes her teeth itch. There is something about Marcus that her skin crawl. Seeing Marcus now, with Bernie, frightens the life out of Serena and she knows her client had been right all along. 

Serena makes sure that she and Ric leave just after Bernie and Marcus. She hangs back in the lobby, within earshot but just out of eye sight, and Ric follows suit. She is relieved to hear Bernie say she would prefer to take a cab home than make Marcus drive all the way across town and back. That he should head straight home. Marcus agrees but insists on waiting until the cabs shows up. 

Serena watches Marcus looming close to Bernie as they wait. She can see the tension in Bernie’s body: coiled tight but somehow spread evenly across her whole body. Marcus mistakes it for coldness and slings an arm around Bernie’s shoulders and pulls her closer. Serena is overcome by the overwhelming urge to stride forward, kick him in the back of the knee, grab Bernie hand and run. Somehow she manages to resists. Barely.She is thankful when the taxi arrives and breaths a sign of relief when long limbs climb into the backseat and drive away.

Marcus starts to walk down the street and Serena walks slowly out into the footpath, pretends to wait for a cab while she watches Marcus walk down the street out of the corner of her eye. Watches him get into his car and speeds away and out of sight. Then, and only then, does Serena beckon to Ric and the two of them start walking towards the car. 

 

*

 

She calls Bernie the next morning and is surprised when a shrill voice the is certainly not Bernie’s answers the phone. Serena assumes it is the housekeeper.

“Hello? Yes, I’d like to speak to Ber— to Ms. Wolfe, please, tell her it's Ms. Campbell. She’ll want to speak to me.” She waits while the voice goes to fetches Bernie.

“Serena?” Bernie’s voice ismellow and pleasantly surprise. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you free this afternoon? There is something I would like to discuss with you.”

“Yes, of course! There’s something I want to talk to you about as well. I could slip away now, if you like, meet at your office in half an hour?”

“Yes, great! I’ll see you then.”

Serena patiently stalks around the flat for the next thirty minutes. She is in the kitchen getting a glass of water when she hears Bernie knock. She starts towards the office when she hears Bernie letting herself in. Serena gets to the doorframe in time to see Bernie stop short when she sees the chair empty. Bernie looks confused and around the room; spots Serena walking towards her and beams.

“Hello,” Serena comes to a stop in the middle of the room and smiles back. “Glad you could make it on such short notice.” 

“Of course,” Bernie leans against the edge of the desk, hand resting on the arm of the chair. Serena shuffles on her feet, glass of water still in her hand. She places it on the desk and charges forward.

“Look, I still haven’t found anything,” Serena blurts out and Bernie stiffens on the desk; looks at her shoes. “But last night, when I saw him with you, he wasn’t like that at all last week. There’s something off about Marcus when he’s with you, there’s something wrong with the way he looks at you,” Serena pauses for a moment to catch her breath. “I still don’t know how to connect him to the murders, but I think - I _know_ \- that you’re right.” Serena stops speaking and looks at Bernie, “you need to be careful.” 

Bernie looks at the floor and sucks in a deep breath. Waits a few moments before speaking.“Thank you,” she breaths out, still staring at the floor, “for believing me.” She looks up and her eyes sparkle: flaming and fierce. “Thank you for caring about me.”

Serena cannot move under that stare or the weight Bernie’s tone piles on top of Serena. She struggles to breathe but eventually manages to nod. Then the weight is gone and she can talk again.

“We haven’t got anything we can take to the police though. There has to be something more for us to find.” Serena desperately needs all the information she can get and figures Bernie is the best place to start. “Maybe if you told me more about him, like, how did you two meet?”

Bernie’s stare falters, soft and scared for a second, before steeling into something sharp.

“We met at a party at Oxford, actually. Some fancy thing my father dragged me to for the family business. Marcus’s family had done the same. He’d just graduated and become a doctor — that’s what fascinated me in the first place.” Bernie’s cheeks flush slightly, “medicine, his degree — it sounded so amazing!”

“Anyway, we kept running into one another at lunches and dinners and what have you. He was charming and interesting and his family, surprisingly, rather approved of me. Marcus once mentioned something about his father wanting to add some military blood into the family, or something silly like that.” Bernie flaps her hand. “So I wasn’t surprised when he proposed. I mean, it did make a lot of sense and he was happy with a long engagement because he had his hands full settling into the university. I wasn’t ready to settle down either. Still not,” she adds absently. “Everything was lovely for a while, for ages, actually. But then his brother, he died, not quiet a year ago. The police said it was a mugging.” Bernie retreats into a memory and gets lost, pauses for a moment before continuing. 

“Marcus changed, after that. At first I thought it was just his way of grieving but then it kept going and he kept changing and every now and then—” she breaks off for a moment, collecting herself. Meets Serena’s eyes, “He was never cruel before his brother died.” She massages her wrist as she speaks, gently stroking the muscles and tendons: her grip tentative as if she expects the pressure to hurt. 

“Things are different now…he’s different now,” she pauses, mulling a syllable over her tongue. “But so am I.” Bernie’s eyes spark. “Um, I, ah…I have something for you.” She opens her bag and pulls out an envelope. Thrusts it into Serena’s hand. “Here.”

Serena crinkles her forehead in confusion, turns the envelope over in her hand and tears it open. Sees her name scrolled in gold cursive shining against the cream white paper. She skims the rest of the page and raises her eyebrows.

“You’re inviting me to party?”

“Yes, if you’re not busy next week,” Bernie’s voice is positively hopeful. “I talked to Marcus about it last night and he was a bit shocked, actually, I tend not to invite people to these things.”

“Wait a minute, it’s Marcus’s party?” Bernie nods. “How do you propose to introduce me? I don’t think ‘Oh hello Mr. Murder, I’m the woman you’re future wife hired to stalk you’ would go over very well.”

Bernie throws her head back and laughs: delicate swan neck completely at odds with goose honk coming from her mouth. Serena gazes at the sight — Bernie’s collarbone is sharp in the lamplight as her fingers grip the edge of the desk — she thinks it might be the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

“No of course not,” Bernie huffs. “I’d introduce you as my friend.” 

“I…um, well, okay then,” Serena stutters. The idea of Bernie calling her friend makes her happier that it had a right to and she looks away, trying to quell the fluttering in her heart. The she has a thought, about their case. “And it will give me a chance to poke around Marcus’s house too, hopefully find something useful. Good thinking, Bernie!”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Bernie mumbles. “That too,” as if Serena’s company had been reason enough to invite her in the first place. “So you’ll come?” 

Bernie face is so hopeful it might just break Serena’s heart and she smiles with wide eyes. 

“I’d be delighted.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone still reading, esp. to those commenting and leaving kudos, y'all the bomb! To show my gratitude have some hand holding :)

Serena spends the rest of the week consumed with thoughts of a blonde with legs that go on for days and her supposedly dull as dishwater future husband who may, in fact, be one of the worst serial murderers this half of the country has ever seen. Needless to say Serena does not get a lot of sleep.

She digs a little deeper into Marcus and starts talking to his friends: the four with things to hide, to be specific. She corners one as they leave work, tracks another down during lunch the next day, stops the third on their way to dinner the following evening, then corners the last in the smoky corner of a bar that night. She doorsteps them and buries them in questions about Marcus: about his career, about his hobbies, about his temperament. Of course they all refuse to answer at first. Until Serena shows them copies of the photographs she snapped the week before and suddenly their tongues are wagging. She applies the right amount of deliberate intent, subtle prodding, and straight talk to keep them on topic while each of them blab for minutes, hours even, about every facet of their friend and his life. 

Not that she likes the answers she get. They all say he is smart and well liked but really just a humdrum boring man with a promising career, a title to inherit, and a quiet but pretty fiancée. Serena is a stoically unimpressed with their description of Bernie, as if a single word like “pretty” could even begin to describe the woman. They say he is his father’s son: talented and prudent. They say he is kind to his mother: polite and caring. He was close to his brother, they all say, those two were thick as thieves. 

They all know the Marcus she thought he had been the week before. Not one of them can say a bad thing about him, even in the face of blackmail and eventually Serena gets sick of hearing them talk. Gives each of them back their blackmail fodder to shut them up. She has no interest in holding longterm power over them, and the relief on their faces when she lets them off the hook is so palpable she is certain they will all keep their mouths shut. She sleeps fitfully that night, dreams of a terrified Bernie begging her for help as she tosses and turns.

She turns her attention to Marcus’s colleagues. She calls a friend in the languages department of the the university and asks for a guided tour of the campus. She pretends to be considering enrolling but wants to vet some classes before she decides on anything. Raf is more than happy to accommodate. She arrives just after lunch, when she knows Marcus is in class, and the two catch up while walking around the grounds. Serena casually mentioned wanting to see the medical wing of the university and Raf leaps at the suggestion, offering to show her around the labs and meet some of the other lecturers. Apparently he had always thought she thrive in the field if she ever goes tired of stalking people for a living.

They walk towards his office and Raf introduces her to some of the professors they pass in the hall. They talk politely to each and Serena manages to raise Marcus up in the first two conversations. Raf picks up on Serena’s ploy and raises “the newest professor in the department” when talking to a third colleague. He does it so effortlessly Serena wonders if she ought to discuss her concerns with him but decides against it. This is her problem and the fewer people that know what she is doing the better is will be for Bernie. 

Each colleague says the same thing: Marcus is a brilliant surgeon and a good colleague. Early in his career but a promising future ahead of him that ought to stream ahead well into his old age. Like his friends this is not what Serena wants to hear andshe goes home dejected and disappointed. 

The next few days are uneventful, she trails Marcus for an afternoon but can clearly see that his schedule is as repetitive as ever. Once more the week ends and Serna has nothing to show for it. She preys there is something to find in Marcus’s house because if not this has been a colossal waste of time and Bernie might still be in danger.

 

*

 

Saturday arrives and with it the party that evening. She squashes the excitement building in her stomach as she takes her time getting ready. After two hours pinning and curling and blushing and smearing she admires herself in full length mirror she keeps in the bathroom. 

The dress was new, bought in a moment of weakness earlier that week. She had been walking across town after doorstepping a source and the thought that her usual black evening gown might be a bit worn had entered her mind as she had walked past a dress store. The flowing black silk of the dress in the windowhas caught her eye, pulling forward the memory of Bernie and her long legs walking into her office for the first time. 

She had tried it on, resolving to buy it despite the price tag the second she saw the way it clung to her hips. The dress had seemed fancy enough to fit in with the crowd she expected to run shoulders with that night but subtle enough not to draw attention to herself: a useful balance for sneaking around a house during a party. Wearing it now, with her hair coiffure and deep read rouge staining her lips, Serena knows she made the right decision. 

She checks her hair one last time, head outside and hails a cab. She clambers into the back seat, gives the dresses, settles herself, taking care not the crease the dress, and stares out the window. The trip takes eons, much longer than she had thought: Marcus really did live on the other side of town. Finally they turn into a gravel driveway and pass though tall iron gates. The cab slowly continues up and around the horseshoe of the drive, coming to a stop at the foot a flight of stairs. She pays the fare, closes the door behind her and takes in the house before her. 

It was huge, at least eight rooms wide and three stories high, huge windows and walls covered in ivy and gargoyles staring out from the roof. It was a mansion, really, all things considered. She starts walking towards to the front door, the car pulling up behind her going unnoticed as she concentrates on not falling face first onto the gravel.She finally finds solid ground on the first stone step and dares to looks up beyond her shoes. 

She is greeted by the sight of Bernie rushing towards her: wide smile and sparking eyes. A short white caplet covers her shoulders and the rest of her clad in deep shimmering blue, the loose fabric of her dress billowing behind her as she descends the stairs with grace. Bernie pulls her into a brief hug and kisses her cheek in greeting. Serena forgets how to breathe. Bernie pulls away and grasps Serena’s hands.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she says, and Serena’s skin burns where her lips brushed. “Come, I’ll introduce you to Marcus.” She keeps hold of one of Serena’s hand and pulls her up the remainder of the stairs. 

“Marcus, dear, this is Serena,” Bernie starts, gesturing towards Serena.

“Ah, Berenice’s new friend!” He says, offering out a hand. She suppresses a shudder as she shakes his hand; those syllabus in his mouth set Serena’s teeth on edge.

“Pleasure to meet you,” she says evenly, manages a smile. “Berenice has told me so much about you, it’s lovely to put a face to the name.”

Marcus smiles politely and opens his mouth to continue the conversation. He is interrupted when someone calls his name as they walk up the stairs. He excuses himself for a moment and Bernie and Serena wait patiently while he greets his new guests. He turns back and tries to talk again when another voice calls to him: apparently each new arrival expects to be greetedpersonally. Bernie shuffles slightly in her shoes.

“Darling, don’t worry we’ll have plenty of time to talk later. Go and greet your friends, I’ll see you inside,”she smiles and kisses his cheek. Marcus nods to both of them and turns back to his guests. 

“Come on, lets get a drink,” Bernie says as she tugs at Serena’s hand. She leads her through the foyer and into what Serena assumes is normally a rather calm sitting room. Tonight it has been transformed into a chaotic standing room jam-packed to the brim with people drinking and smoking and mingling. 

Bernie navigates them a pathway though the dozens of bodies, their fingers intertwined. Serena lets herself be pulled along towards the refreshment table on the far side of the room. They exit the crowd and Bernie lets go of Serena’s hand in favour of two glasses of wine: a red and a white. She passes the red to Serena and keeps the white for herself, turns her face towards the party and leaning against the edge of the table, bumping against Serena’s hips. Serena does not move away. 

“Good lord, getting anywhere in this house is tedious when there are this many people here,” Bernie complains. 

Serena looks at the room full of people, bustling and busy, and smirks. This is the perfect cover: no one is going to notice a woman make a wrong turn for the bathroom. Not that she knows where anything is in the house, Serena thinks as she drinks her wine. She calculates in silence and they drink and watch. Just as Serena is wondering how she is supposed to branch the topic Bernie turns to her, taking the almost empty glass in Serena’s hand and replacing it with a fresh glass of shiraz.

“Oh, this room is boring,” she says. “Come on, lets try the next one.”

Bernie brushes past Serena as she walks towards the door on their left and back out into the foyer. They pass by the next room and Bernie pokes her head in: gets a face-full of smoke and pulls it back out again. They walk through the next room, three times the size of the first room and just as full. They start weaving through the clusters of guests, pausing whenever Bernie sees a familiar faces to have a brief conversation and introduce Serena before moving on. They finally make it to the edge of the room and start people watching quietly. 

“So, what’s the party for tonight anyway?” Serena asks, breaking the silence. 

“No reason, really. Marcus just likes hosting parties from time to time, says he needs the practice. It give his mother something to look forward to as well. She likes having people to talk to and staff to order around,” Bernie sniff as she explains, the disdain on her face self-evident. 

“So how often does he have these shindigs?” 

“Quiet often, actually. It something he started doing after his brother died. The first was probably seven, maybe eight months ago now, I think? Its fairly scattered, actually. The timing, I mean. I think the longest he’s gone without hosting one has been two months?” 

Something about those number rattles in Serena’s mind. She tries to put a finger on why but gets distracted by an amplified voice drifting through the air. A few warm up notes reaches their ears, follows by a handful of cords on a piano. There is a lull and then a double base kicks the music up into full swing.

They watch as the atmosphere shifts: talk falling to a hush in one half of the room and picking up a decibel in the other. A few of the younger looking attendees, Serena assumes Marcus’s favourite students, claim the area in front of the band as a dance floor. The niggling continues in the back of Serena’s mind as she watches the kids twirl and jive, until she feels Bernie breathe on her ear.

“Dance with me?” Bernie whispers and Serena’s mind goes completely blank. She turns and Bernie’s eyes are sparking and she cannot say no.  She nods and Bernie beams: races towards the crowd amassing on the dance floor with Serena in toe. They bop and weave and wiggle along with the other dancers until the song ends. The next one starts: beat lively enough but much slower and the floor starts to pair off. Bernie slips her hand into Serena’s, tangling their fingers together, and leads them across the floor.

Serena can overhear the other dancers chatting amongst themselves as they weave between the other couples. Serena tries to follow suit as they sashay around the floor; opens her mouth to start a conversation and looks up to see Bernie looking down at her. Smiling so tiny and so bright that Serena has to look away or else she thinks she might just faint. Or combust, really, because Bernie’s body is so close it sets Serena’s nerve endings on fire. Serena closes her mouth and spends the rest of the song looking over Bernie’s shoulder concentrating on how to breath. 

Thankfully the song is short and ends abruptly and Serena manages to mask her panting well enough as they break apart. She spies a waiter moving across the room with a tray of poured wine. She makes a beeline off the dance floor and towards him, grabbing a glass from the tray; gulping it as she calms herself. 

She looks up over the rim of the wine glass and makes eye contact with Bernie walking to catch up. Bernie’s eyes flick towards the main door of the room and Serena takes the hint, walking back out into the foyer with Bernie in toe.  They walk into another room, smaller this time with far less people. A group of them recognise Bernie and call out to her, gesturing to the empty seat beside them. Bernie introduces Serena and the conversation rolls on until Bernie excuses herself to get a drink. Serena follows a few minutes later when the women start talking about getting married. 

She catches up to Bernie as the blonde reach the doorway of the next room they have yet to enter. They refill their glasses, walk through the room pausing where necessary, and exit again. Go to the next room and repeat. They keep a deliberately sporadic pace as Bernie guides Serena of each of the occupied rooms on the ground floor and then up the stairs to the next.

To anyone watching the two are just innocently room hopping and socialising, but Serena suspects Bernie knows exactly what she is doing. Her suspicions are confirmed when Bernie takes special care to point out the corridor of the second floor which houses Marcus’s office. Serena gives her a curt nod at that piece of information, then waves her now empty glass and leads the way back down stairs. 

Serena starts towards the din of the sardine-packed rooms to get a refill before Bernie grasps her hand and tugs her towards the other wing of the house. They walk along the corridor and Serena wonder why she can hear the sound of metal clanging and corks popping until they reach the kitchen. It is brimming with staff running in and out with wine and hors d’œuvres. Most of the people in the room pause and smile when they see Bernie; one of the kitchen hands drops what they are doing to give her their full attention. 

“It’s getting late, Bernie,” he says. “I wondered when we’d see you.” Serena giggles slightly - running off the kitchen in the middle of a party sounds like a very Bernie thing to do - alerting the man to her presence. His face falls and he starts stammering, “I mean Berenice - Ms. Wolfe - I’m sorry I didn’t—” 

“It’s quite alright,” Bernie cuts him off. “Dom, this is my friend Serena.” 

Serena gives a little wave as she says hello. He stops panicking, "it’s nice to meet you. I take it your the reason our Bernie managed to stay in that fray for so long?”

“Ah, yes, she gave me a bit of a tour. Then I ran out of wine,” Serena says sadly, looking wistfully at the empty glass again. Bernie and Dom both laugh at her crestfallen face. They shake hands to say goodbye before Bernie crosses the kitchen to grab a bottle of red from the rack in the corner. She pulls a corkscrew from the draw and picks up two fresh glasses; turns to wave Serena over before walking through a tiny wooden door.

Serena follows into what she assumes is the back garden. It is completely empty and reasonably quiet, save for the crickets: the sounds of the house not quite managing to reach this far outside with the kitchen doors shut. There are no lights in the garden but the moon is bright and it is easy enough to make out the terrain. Bernie walks over to some furniture in the corner of the garden and puts her handfuls on the table as Serena joins her.

“Here, this is for you.” Bernie presses something cold and metal into Serena’s hand. Serena looks down at her hands and can make out a key in the moonlight. “His office is always locked so I got Dom to steal a skeleton.”

“God, Bernie! You’re brilliant,” Serena says with enthusiasm. “I’ll slip away and you head back to the party to keep an eye one him?” 

“Yes, of course.” Bernie nods and Serena start walking back inside. 

“Not yet though,” Bernie blurts out in a rush and Serena stops. “I’d like to stay here for a while,” she says much calmer and Serena turns back. “Would you stay?” Bernie leans against the table and picks up the bottle of wine, brandishing it slightly. “There is wine here after all.”

Serena smiles and walks over with her glass held out. Takes a sip as she makes herself comfortable perching on the edge of the table next to Bernie. Bernie has her head tiled back, staring at the stars, and Serena admires the lines of Bernie’s neck out of the corner of her eye. 

“You look wonderful tonight,” Bernie says, still looking upward. “You look lovely in skirts.” Bernie shifts the weight on her feet and her leg presses firm against Serena. “I noticed it before, at the restaurant.”

“I didn’t think you noticed me,” Serena admitted, feeling the heat of Bernie’s thigh through the fabric of their dresses. 

“Of course I did.” Bernie turns to look at Serena and smiles: wide and bright.  Serena’s eyes are drawn to the curve of Bernie’s lips, shining in the moonlight and suddenly it is all too much. 

Serena leans forward, compelled and unthinking. Brushes her lips against Bernie’s, featherlight and sweet. Bernie gasps and Serena pulls away like a shot, snapping out of her daze with panic in her eyes. She pushes away from the table and turns to run inside. An arm shoots out in the dark: a gentle hand on her elbow stopping her retreat.

“Don’t go” Bernie whispers. Serena turns back slowly, heart thumping widely in her chest. Serena watches, transfixed, as Bernie takes a step towards her, and then another, until Serena can feel the heat radiating off her body in the cold night air. Bernie tangles her fingers in Serena’s hair, grip still loose on her elbow: Serena’s arms wrap around Bernie’s waist to draw her even closer.

“Please stay,” Bernie pleads, her breath puffing against Serena’s lips, and smashes their mouths together so fiercely it makes Serena’s head spin. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic physical violence, specifically male aggression towards women. Also murder, blood, blades. There is also a phrase of implied homophobia. 
> 
> As y'all know this fic is a noir au and it includes noir-esque violence. It's brutal and unpleasant and I've upped the rating of the series to reflect that. I repeat, there is explicit physical violence in this chapter. If you're not into that but like the concept of this AU skip this chapter and wait till I publish the next one.

Soft moans and sharp breaths fill the silence of the garden until the kitchen window swings open. The scrape of metal on stone and the noise of the party rush forward to break the peace of the grounds.  
 ****

“Bernie!” Dom’s hissed whisper carries in the night air and Bernie snaps her head towards the voice. “Marcus was looking for you.”

They break apart, still panting, untangle their limbs and curl them back by their sides. Bernie looks back at Serena with slightly parted lips and says nothing. Serena tries to smile, lips swollen and humming, tries to say something, anything: finds she cannot manage either. The silence grows between them until its something thick and sticky and a weight settles on Serena’s heart. Bernie blinks and looks away; looks at her shoes then up at the sky. 

“We’d better get back,” she says, leaving the wine on the table as she walks back towards the tiny kitchen door. 

Dom look up at them when they enter the otherwise empty kitchen. He smirks as they take a few steps through the room and tries to catch Bernie’s eye. He fails—Bernie is staring at her shoes—catches Serena’s eye instead and gestures to his mouth. Serena shoots him a puzzled look then gets the message; grabs Bernie’s forearm before she make it any further across the kitchen.

“Bernie, I think we need a mirror.” Serena drops her hand as Bernie turns: messy hair and rumpled dress and lipstick stains now apparent in the properly lit kitchen. Bernie looks dishevelled and ravished and delicious and Serena fights back the urge to kiss her senseless. 

“Only if we go out there looking like… _this_ …I think we might give the game away,” Serena tries to joke but knows it falls flat before she finishes speaking. Realisation dawns on Bernie and she hurriedly looks around the room: there is no mirror to be seen in the kitchen and they will certainly bump into someone on their way to the nearest bathroom. They both shuffle awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. 

Finally Serena huffs and thinks to use what they have on hand: whips off the lipstick smears on Bernie’s face with her thumb. Bernie’s eyes flutter shut at the contact and she lets out a gentle moan as the pad of Serena’s thumb brushes against the corner of her mouth. Serena pauses, thumb resting on Bernie’s dimple, and sighs as Bernie nuzzles her cheek into Serena’s palm. Bernie looks at Serena through long lashes and presses a kiss to her skin. Serena feels the thickness that has been sitting on her chest since the silence in the garden completely melt away and grins. 

Theyturn to see Dom standing at the kitchen entrance with his back to them: arms folded and obviously guarding. Bernie whispers her thanks as she slips past the young man. Serena sees his smirk and grips his arm in thanks as they leave the kitchen. 

They walk up the corridor in silence, elbows brushing occasionally as they head back towards the crowd. Bernie starts shrugging off her cardigan, huffing about the heat. Serena’s steps falter when she sees the plunging fabric of Bernie’s dress: bareback with shoulder blades so sharp they could cut. It takes her a few moments to get her feet working again. 

They enter the main room, music still playing, with a respectable distance between them. Bernie flags down a waiter as they walk past, has a word as she passes her caplet to them. They are chatting at the side of the room when Marcus comes over to talk to them.

“Berenice, where have you been?” he asks, wrapping an arm around her waist to kiss her cheek. Serena sees the tension coil in Bernie’s bicep and fights back the urge to cringe. “I went looking for you until that kitchen boy said you’d gone out to the hedge.”

“Mm, Serena mentioned she’s a fan of mazes,” Bernie explains. “And you know me and parties, I jumped at the chance to get some fresh air.” 

“Yes, you’re not very good in a crowd are you,” Marcus says flatly. He retracts his arm and starts necking his scotch. “But I mush say, it’s been a smashing party so far.”

“Yes,” Bernie agrees. “I’ve rather enjoyed myself too.” Her eyes flick towards Serena. “I’m going to grab a drink, I’ll be right back.” Bernie dashes away, leaving Serena and Marcus together. 

“It has been a swell party,” Serena starts, trying to fill the void. “You’re quite the host.” Marcus nods at the compliment. 

“One of many I’ve hosted recently, though Berenice inviting a friend is a first. You’ve not known each other long, have you?” Marcus asks. “Only, Berenice has only just mentioned you, how did you meet?”

“In an over-crowded cafe, actually. I was gasping for a coffee and a sit down but my favourite place was packed full. Berenice overheard me asking the waitress if there were any seats, and as she had a booth to herself she offered the other half to me.”

“That was, kind, of her,” Marcus said. Serena can hear the thinly veiled disbelief in his tone and races ahead to cover her tracks.

“Of course I declined, I knew she was only being polite. But I recognised her at the theatre later that week and I introduced myself, to say how kind she’d been. And of course we started talking about the play, which was marvellous, and how beautiful the costumes were—” 

“Ah, yes,” Marcus interjects as politely as possible, obviously bored with Serena’s nattering. Thankfully they both spy Bernie returning with drinks in hand. “It’s wonderful to meet you Serena, but I must see to my other guest.” He rounds on Bernie as she reaches them, slinging his arm around her shoulders: presses a kiss to her neck as she tries to pass Serena a drink. “Berenice, I’ve some guests that want to talk to you.”

Serena can see the tension coil in Bernie’s bicep. Her eyes flash at Serena, who takes the hint as she takes the glass. 

“Oh, of course!” Serena smiles brightly at the couple. “You two go on,” Marcus nods and Serena turns to Bernie. “I promiseI’ll catch up with you before I leave.” 

Bernie smiles and lets Marcus guide her to the far side of the room and join a group already in conversation.

 

*****

 

Serena waits a few minutes before slipping out of the room and heading into the next. She helps herself to some food, mingles for a few minutes, before heading out in the foyer again. She casually follows a couple heading up the stairs and into the gaming room. Serenaeyes a few hands on the cards tables beforethe smoke starts stinging her eyes and she leaves the room. 

She takes a right towards the powder room. She passes two women in the corridor on the way but the corridor is empty as she nears the room so she keeps going. Walks down the corridor and takes another right then a left and walks to the room at the end of the hall. She pulls the stolen key from her sleeve, check over her shoulder to make sure no one it around, and lets herself into Marcus’s office.

She sizes up the room while she still has the light of the hallway and shuts the door behind her quietly. She treads carefully towards the desk, minding the filing cabinet to her right and the corner of the rug in the middle of the room, and turns on the lamp. 

Serena maps the desk and thinks it looks eerily similar to her own: files and paperweights and an ashtray. She knows nothing of interest will be in plain sight so starts rustling around the drawers: top right, bottom right, top left, bottom left. Paper and pens and nothing of interest in any of them. She is about to move on to the bookshelf along the wall to her right when she her finger brushes the bottom of the last draw.

Where the insides of all the other drawers have been the same polished as the exterior, this one is rougher, thinner even. Serena empties the drawer to find a ribbon at the back: one end dangling free and the other disappearing down under the base of the drawer. Serena pulls the ribbon and the false bottom comes away with it. 

Underneath there is a folder: a single plain manilla folder, slightly dogeared on the one side. Serena gingerly picks up the folder and opens it: bites back a scream and barely manages not to drop it and spill its contents. It is full of photographs of women: sliced and diced and bleeding. The paper is professional but the angles are amateur: even with the absence of negatives in the folder Serena knows these are Marcus’s handiwork. He had even scrawled dates on the back of some of the photographs. Serena recognises the numbers and the niggling in the back of her mind starts again. 

Serena closes the folder and puts in on the desk, hands shaking and heart racing. She sees the phone on the desk, reaches over and starts dialling: thankfully she still remembers the right extension number. She tries to calm herself with a few deep breaths as the dial tone rings. She hears the call connect and a gruff voice greets her.

“Robbie, it’s Serena.”

“Serena?” She can hear his confusion. “Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again. Look, I’m sorry about what—”

“Robbie, I haven’t got time for this. You know the serial case, the carved up women?”

“Of course, look what’s this all about?”

“I found him.” Serena breaths through the lengthy pause.

“You what?”

“His name is Marcus Dunn, he a professor at Holby University, a doctor. His fiancée hired me, knew something was wrong but couldn’t go the authorities until she had evidence - his family has connections up to their eyeballs. And I found it, the evidence.”

“What!”

“Photographs that he’s taken of the women before he threw them away. I can recognise the injuries from the police files — yes, I’ve seen them I made copies, don’t make a fuss — I found them in the false bottom of the bottom left draw in his office desk. It’s on the second floor. Look, Robbie, I need you to send a squad. I’ll put the photographs back where I found them for you to find—”

“You’re in his office right now!” 

“Yes, he’s having a party and Bernie is keeping him occupied while I look.” The niggling at the back of Serena mind stops as something clicks. “God, Robbie, it’s the bloody parties, the murders didn’t start until he started hosting them. He must sneak away at some point, finds another girl in the city, and if anyone asks everyone just assumes he is still here. It’s too dangerous to leave him where he is, you need to come _now.”_

“There is a squad already on their way. I’ll be right behind them. Jesus, Serena! Do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, please stay safe.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you cared,” she bites, flippant and afraid. “Hurry _up,_ Robbie.”

Serena gently drops the phone back into the cradle. Puts the photographs and false tray back in place, puts the original contents back in the drawer and slides it shut. She walks around the desk and flicks off the lamp, steps quickly across floor. She is almost at the knob when the door creaks open. 

Marcus stands in the wooden frame: backlit by light of the hallway and his face all shadows. Serena’s heart stops beating and her mind goes into overdrive.

“Oh, I’m so sorry I got turned around looking for the bathroom,” she tries. It is a weak excuse, she knows, but it keeps him distracted enough to try pushing past him to get to the corridor. She sinks her weight down hard on her right leg, preparing to run.

A hand on her shoulder stops her in her tracks. She freezes as the tight grip; breaths heavy as it slowly tightens till Serena has to bit back a whimper. Marcus leans close and Serena starts trembling. 

“I know you’ve been following me,’ he whispers in her ear.

He pushes her back into the room and shuts the door behind him. Serena tries to scramble to the side and around in the dark but he finds her, presses her against he door with an elbow to her throat. She whimpers, feels him lean forward: the overhead light switches on, flooding the room. Serena squints against the light with snarling Marcus inches from her face. 

“I recognised you,” he spits at her. “I’ve been seeing you for days, weeks, everywhere I went, campus and pubs and the restaurant. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t notice you?”

Serena had, in fact, expected him not to: no one ever really paid attention to the world around them. She whimpers in lieu of a reply as the pressure against her neck increases. 

“I know you’ve been talking to my colleagues, even tried my friend! It was a mistake to give him the blackmail material, if you’d kept it he might have kept his mouth shut but who knows now.”

He drops his arms and steps back: Serena slides down the door, one hand on her throat and the other catching the door knob. She turns it and tries to get her to feet; takes a rasping breath and wrenches the door open. Marcus kicks the door shut in her face and then kicks her in the face. 

Serena falls back onto the rug with a whimper, clutching her nose. Feels a kick to her side and rolls. Feels a shoe in her stomach and curls. Feels a heel on her rib and cries out. She feels Marcus crouching down beside her, looming over her. 

“No one is going to hear you, you know,” he says blandly. “This house has very thick walls. Someone would have to be right outside that door to hear what goes on in this room. Unfortunately for you there is a party downstairs. No one is coming for you, certainly not Berenice.”

Serena whimpers at the name. Marcus hears it. 

“Ah, yes, well you see your new… _friend_.” The tone he uses makes Serena’s stomach churn. “She was very busy entertaining my guests when I left her, she wasn’t thinking about you at all.” 

Serena does not care if Bernie never thinks of her again, never sees her again: as long as Bernie is downstairs and far away and safe. Serena shakes her head as she tries to crawl onto her hands and knees, tries to stand again. 

Marcus laughs as her stamps on her knee and levels another kick to her gut. She falls onto her back, rolling and groaning; eyes screwed shut as she tries to breath through the pain. She hears the slap of flesh on flesh before she feels the sting on her face. She curls back up in a ball and tastes blood. 

“I saw you two earlier, dancing,” he spits out with venom. “It was pathetic, the way you were making a fool of yourself. The way you look at Berenice makes me sick.”

“Bernie,” Serena mumbles over her swollen lip. She spits on the rug and uses her arms to drag herself to the side of the room. She leans against the cabinet, whips her mouth on her sleeve, squares her shoulders and stares Marcus dead in the eye. “Her name is Bernie and if she loved you she’d have told you that.”

Something flashes in Marcus’s eyes and Serena knows with absolute certainty he is going to kill her: hopes beyond reason the police get here in time to at least find her body. He kneels down beside her and Serena bites back a cry as he backhands her. 

“My fiancée’s name,” his voice is dull and flat and dangerous, “is Berenice.”

“No, Marcus.” Serena’s looks up at him, eyes out of focus, and smiles: feels her lip split wider and holds back the cringe. If she is going to die on the floor of this man’s office she is sure as hell not going to let him have the last word. “It isn’t.”

He pulls her forward by the collar and elbows her in the cheek. She feels something crack and her face smashes against the cabinet and she screams. She hears the door burst open; it hits the wall so hard it swings back and shuts itself behind the new arrival. Serena would recognises those legs anywhere. Her stomach turns.

“Marcus!” Bernie yells, voice deep and hoarse. “Get the hell away from her.” 

“Berenice,” he almost-sings, playing with the syllables.“So glad you could join us. I’m getting acquainted with your new friend.”

Bernie lunges forward and Serena has never seen her move with such force. Serena cannot move; watches as Bernie kicks him in the shin, knees him in the gut, scratches at his face. Bernie cracks Marcus with her elbow: he grabs her upper arm and throws her into the wall. She bounces off it and Marcus grabs the back of her head; slams it against wood of the bookshelf. Serena cries out as Bernie’s knees give way but she still cannot move.

Marcus takes a few steps to the his left and pulls out a book from the shelf: lets it fall open in his hand and pulls out scalpel. It gleams in the light and Serena struggles to get up. Marcus stalks back over to Bernie: hauls her onto her feet and presses her back against the wall. Bernie whimpers as he drags the blade down her chest: cuts through her dress and slices into her skin between her breasts. 

“I’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” Marcus hisses. Bernie sobs as blood drips down her stomach, staining the fabric of her now ruined dress. He throws her into the desk and she cries as her hip makes contact with the solid mahogany. He follows, pressing her against the wood; holds the scalpel to her throat, scraps the skin of the right side of her neck bloody. “I’m going to savour this, make it last.”

Marcus has her bent backwards over the desk; Bernie grips his arm and manages to push some distance between her jugular and the blade. Serena finally struggles to her feet and throws her whole weight onto Marcus as Bernie kicks him in the knees. The two of them careen to the left and crash to the floor: blade falling from Marcus’s grip and sliding into the corner. Serena thinks she hears something pop but has no idea if it came from her body.

“Bernie, run!” she cries. Marcus tries to kick her off him: howls as Serena hears another sickening pop. She rolls onto her back as Marcus limps back onto his feet. “Please, run.”

Serena expects a kick, a blow: searing pain and flickers of black. Instead she hears a cry and a crash and Marcus drops to the ground beside her feet like a sack of bricks. 

Serena looks up to see Bernie standing over Marcus: blood dripping down her chest and blood dripping from the paperweight in her hands. Bernie stares at Marcus, eyes glazed over and breathing ragged. Marcus does not move. 

Serena tries to get up but her knee cannot manage it. Her whimpers draw Bernie out of her daze: she blinks rapidly, looks down, sees Serena trying to drag herself away from the body. Bernie scurries behind Serena and helps her towards the bookshelf. Serena can feel the warmth and wet of Bernie’s blood on the back of her neck.

“You need to put pressure on that,” Serena bites out. Bernie stands, looks around the room frantically: cannot see anything useful. Looks down at the ruins of her dress and strips it off. Rips it in half, wraps it into a makeshift bandage to try and blot the bleeding. Serena reaches out to press her palm against the material. Bernie drops to her knees beside Serena and uses the rest of her dress to whip the blood off Serena’s face. 

“God, Serena, I’m sorry,” Bernie’s voice breaks and she flings her arms around Serena. Serena’s arm is trapped between them and her hands stays pressed against Bernie’s heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s going to be okay,” Serena’s feels hot tears on her shoulder; winds her free hand in Bernie’s hair. “We’re going to be alright.”

They stay wrapped around one another, shuddered breaths and silent tears, while shouts of “Police, step aside!” waft up the corridor. They stay wrapped around one another as the the door opens, as a dozen uniforms enter the room, as Robbie crouches down to place a hand on each of their shoulders. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I have no idea about medial care or police investigations or legal proceeding irl, but I created this AU and this is how things work there so roll w it :)

Eventually Robbie convinces Bernie to peel herself away from Serena; guides her to a uniform with a notepad to start answering some questions. Without Bernie’s body to ground her Serena barely registers inhabiting a corporal form. She is vaguely aware of one of the uniforms trying to talk to her. Vaguely aware of Robbie telling them to shove off. Vaguely aware of a doctor examining her, of strong hands lifting her onto a stretcher, of being carried down the stairs and being put in the back of an ambulance. 

She is, however, acutely aware of Bernie clamouring into the ambulance after her. Acutely aware of Bernie tangling their fingers together and kissing her knuckles. Acutely aware of Bernie sitting by her side, holding her hand and muttering under her breath, the whole way to the hospital. 

The nurses seperate them when they arrive. Serena is examined and taken into surgery. When she wakes her head is groggy; her leg is strapped and elevated in a sling. She wonder where Bernie is before she thinks to ask the doctors about her own prognosis. When her doctor does arrive, terribly tall in a horrid knitted sweater, he introduces himself as Mr. Hanssen. 

He attempts to explain her condition but Serena interrupts him. She demands to know what happened to Bernie and keeps interrupting him as he tries to talk. He stares down at her over the his thin-framed glasses, not the least bit amused by Serena’s antics. Finally he realises just how firm Serena’s resolve is and relents; explains that the majority of Bernie’s injuries are superficial but require a lot of stitching. Serena still squirms and complains until he promises to tell Bernie where Serena is after she wakes up. Then, and only then, does she starts cooperating.

Her list of injuries is long and she listens in horrified silence. Internal bleeding, dislocatedknee, cracked ribs, broken nose, a suspected concussion, and a possible facial fracture under all those contusions. She waits with baited breath as he explains in clipped words that they fixed the bleed, relocated the knee, strapped the ribs, and reset the nose. He says she will make a full recovery, given time and rehabilitation, and Serena sigh with relief. Though she is less than impressed when he adds she will need to stay in the hospital for some time. He leaves and she stares at the wall until the police come by the collect her statement. They leave and eventually she falls asleep.

Serena wakes up one giant ache. Feels her soreness melt away when she notices Bernie: sitting in the chair next to her and reading a book. The angle makes the bandage on her neck all the more obvious. Bernie looks up from her book when she hears Serena’s voice and beams. She drags her chair closer to the bed and strokes Serena’s arm. Serena smiles, nods at the book, shuffles into the mattress a little more and closes her eyes again. Bernie pulls the chair even closer and bends her knees against the bed frame; keeps contact with Serena’s skin and starts reading one handed. They stay like that, quiet and connected, until a nurse walks past and finally notices Bernie is in a hospital gown and shoos her back bed. 

Bernie sneaks back that night, red-eyed and shaking; slips behind the curtain and under the covers. Serena puts an arm around her, tangles their finger together, and sleeps peacefully with blonde hair ticketing her nose. The morning shift nurse raises a ruckus when she finds them. Wakes them abruptly and takes Bernie back to her bed. The staff keep her under ward-arrest for the rest of her stay. 

They discharge Bernie on Tuesday morning, leaving Serena stuck in hospital by herself. Bernie visits the next afternoon and Serena catches a glimpse of her stitches under the loose collar of her shirt. Bernie says the police came to question her but leaves out any details. Serena does not push, instead wonders out loud if she ought to find a lawyer. Bernie refuses to hear it, says she will take case of it; has a meeting with her solicitor on Friday. Serena rants about being stuck in a bed with nothing to do. Bernie brings a different stack of cooks with her when she visits each day for the rest of the week.

Serena is surprised when Morven visits on Saturday morning, turns out she is the gossip of the station; is even more surprised when Ric and Raf visit as well. She is equally surprised when Bernie does not, and is equal parts confused and upset at Bernie’s absence. Until Robbie comes by the hospital on Sunday afternoon to go over her statement and explains Bernie’s lawyers advised the two of them have no contact during an open investigation. Serena nods, understanding and disappointed.

The week drags by and Serena decided she hates physical therapy. Robbie drops by on Friday to tell her the investigation has been wrapped up. Marcus's death was in defence of self and others, and given this links to other crimes around the city the state thought it wise not to pursue legal recourse: no charges are to brought against Serena or Bernie. She breathes easier that night, thinking Bernie will visit soon. The weekend comes and goes and nothing. The next week crawls on and still more nothing and the sorrow rises in Serena’s throat like bile.

She completes her rehabilitation course and isdischarged with faded bruises and most of the movement in her knee. She goes home, office exactly how she left it. She tries calling Bernie that night, reaching out, but no one answers. She tries again the next night: it rings out. She tries again the night after that but cannot make a connection: the receiver must have been left off the hook. She does not try again. 

She reopens the agency and tries her best to forget Bernie. Only takes on a few clients at first with her body still sore and healing but things pick up quickly. The incident had been well reported with Serena’s mentioned by name and curiosity in the Dame Detective rises to an all time high. Suddenly her days are so busy Serena can barely think about anything other than work. 

She still has to sleep though, manages it with eyelids weighted down by bottles of wine. She wakes up in tears most mornings. Mainly from nightmares that she jerks awake from: face hot and puffy and the taste of blood in her mouth. Other night, however, she dreams of Bernie: kissing her, holding her, laughing and smiling. She wakes up with wet cheeks and a heart so heavy she thinks it might just crush her.

Over time the nightmares dull and loose their ferocity. The tears lessen and eventually the cooper tang fades entirely. But as the nightmare fade so do Serena’s memories of golden curls and goose honks and that shy smile Serena is so dearly fold of. At first she thinks that is a good thing.

Until one night, fuelled with wine and the congratulations of a case closed that afternoon, Serena lets herself remember. Remembers gleaming hair and curved lips and the way her nose crinkles when she talks. Remember the billow of her dress and her tightly cinched waist and her wonderfully sharp shoulder blades. 

Then she tries to remember breathy moans and a hot hot mouth and the heat of her body under Serena’s palm. Except the memory is not quite right: it plays out flat and unfulfilling in her mind. The realisation she has forgotten what Bernie tastes like hits her like a kick to the gut. A part of Serena wishes the nightmares would return if it means bringing back the warmth of Bernie’s dimples under the pad of her thumb.

 

*

 

Serena sits at her desk, legs up on the desk. Business really has been positively booming, she thinks as she makes her waythrough the very large pile of case folders stacked on her desk. She has gotten way through a third of the oil when there is a soft knock on the door: three gentle taps on the glass. 

“Come in!” Serena calls as she puts her feet on the floor. She closes the file and looks up to see a mop of messy blonde hair enter the room. Thankfully the hair is attached to a person: a specific person with long legs and high cheek bones. 

“May I come in?” Bernie asks, sheepish and unsure. She is every bit the same marblesque statue she was the first time she walked through those door and Serena has to suppress the urge to devour her.

“Of course, Ms. Wolfe.” The formality grits are Serena’s teeth. “What can I do for you this time?” Serena asks as Bernie fold herself into the chair opposite. 

“I, um…” Bernie looks over the desk at Serena, wide eyes and dishevelled. “Nothing, actually. I just wanted to see you,” Bernie says simply. 

Serena feels her stomach fall though the floor.

“I’m sorry I pulled away,” Bernie says quietly, and the depth in her voice affects Serena far more than it has a right to. “I wanted to see you after the investigation ended but it was all just too much and I couldn’t handle it.” She sounds so very sad and Serena looks down at the desk.

“I was going to come sooner, to see you, but you know how lawyers are with wills…my father—” she breaks off. Serena looks up and sees the unshed tears in her eyes. Bernie takes a shaky breath and soldiers on, “My father passed away last month, killed in action actually.”

“Oh, Bernie.” Serena wants hug her, wants to wrap her arms around Bernie and never let go. She stays where she is: does not move from her seat. “I’m so sorry.

“As sole beneficiary I’m now an extremely wealthy woman. I mean I was before, but now…” she trails off. “I’m leaving - expatriating - to France.” Serena feels her heart lurch. “There are so many bad memories here, so much I want to leave behind.” Bernie pauses, nibbles on her bottom lip as she looks at her shoes.

“But not everything,” she looks up, looks up with so much tenderness Serena thinks her heart might break. “Not you, Serena,” Bernie whispers so soft Serena cannot be sure she heard right. “I don’t want to forget you.” 

“Bernie, I—” Serena’s breathe catches in her throat and her eyes burn.“I never want to forget you either.”

She looks at Bernie, finally letting herself drink in the sight before her: dishevelled hair and rosy cheeks and impossibly delicate neck. Bernie folds a little under the intensity of Serena’s gaze; worries her lip with her teeth and something in Serena melts. 

Serena stands and walks around the desk; stops a foot away from the chair and offers out her hand. Bernie blinks, slips her palm over Serena’s and laces their fingers together. Their eyes met for a second, burning and bright and Serena tilts her head. Wraps an arm around Bernie’s waist; draws her closer and presses their lips together. She opens her mouth and sighs when she feels Bernie’s tongue brush against hers. They kiss and moan and grab and caress; eventually breaking apart and haggard breath and heaving chests. 

“Come with me to Paris?” Bernie pants against Serena’s lips. “Come with me - _be_ with me, Serena, please?” 

Serena cannot think of anything in the world she wants more: nods vigorously, smiles, and leans forward once more and kisses Bernie senseless. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was the final chapter kids, it's been a real swell ride and I hope y'all enjoyed it a bunch! Thank you to everyone who read, everyone who kudos-ed, and everyone who commented, y'all the loveliest <3


	8. Epilogue: I don’t care where I stand in this big wide world as long as it is by your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris is beautiful in the winter. Serena and Bernie are blissfully happy in their top floor apartment on the left bank of la Seine, until Serena starts to feel an ache in her heart that she cannot quite articulate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right, so this epilogue is a stark departure from the rest of the series. Because of the inherently violent nature of the mystery solving narrative there was very little eroticism in the previous portion of this story: that is not the case with this new chapter. 
> 
> It is very sexually explicit and also includes scenes of fisting and squirting.
> 
> Also (spoilers, soz) pregnancy and childbirth is a major plot point. (Yes, I wrote a kid!fic. No, I don't understand either). The child is conceived through natural (is that the right word?) and consensual means but the situation is complicated by the fact that the two characters in a committed relationship this fic focuses on both have vaginas and I haven't a clue what IVF was like in the 1930's (again I have no idea why this fic decided it wanted to be written other than #elinorlives in every universe and that's a bit difficult to do if she hasn't been born in the first place and I don't like the number 7). (Also FYI the characters are like, early 30's at the oldest)
> 
> Also contains gratuitous amounts of smiles and laughter and kisses and also bees. 
> 
> Also shout out to my buddie Aubergine for being a lil asshole about the narrative but liking my prose, and @awesomelesbiansurgeon for helping me w my French :3

The weather is chilly when the arrive in France. Serena learns that Bernie Wolfe is both fond of motors and something of a speed demon, and settles in to soak in the countryside from the passenger seat of on the way from Lille to Paris. They stop at almost ever vineyard they pass and eat their weight in cheese at every opportunity.

Each guest house they stay serves as a way to keep them close but seperate. She sees a glimmer in Bernie’s eyes brighten each night they say goodnight with a stolen kiss when no one is watch; feels a hunger that has nothing to do with food grow stronger. Serena falls asleep most nights thinking in riddles about temptation and torment

When they reach the outskirts of Paris Serena is floored by how beautiful the city is in winter. Everything is dusted white like icing sugar and the snow glare makes everything gleam soft and calm. There is a harshness to the city too: the sidewalks and winding stairs of the city freeze in the brusque cold, giving it a dangerous bite.

Not that either Bernie or Serena think to complain as they let themselves into their new apartment: alone and together. The weather gives them the perfect excuse to stay indoors all day, they think as they fall into bed, all lips and teeth and fingers and fists. The springs of the mattress creak as they tear at each other’s clothes, frantic and desperate, until they finally, _finally,_ press against each other’s naked body. Bernie flesh is hot against Serena’s skin and her lung are on fire and she thinks she might just burn up.

She leads the way, hands stroking and fingers curling, while Bernie quivers and moans and gasps. Serena mouth at the scar on Bernie’s chest and slips in a finger: watches Bernie’s eyes flutter shut and her hips roll as she presses her cheek into the pillow. She glides in and out of Bernie’s slick heat, long and slow and gentle, until she is keening and panting more. Serena brushes a thumb against her clit and Bernie’s eye snap open: glazed over but completely focused. Serena hears the silent plea and presses her thumb firm. Serena watches Bernie fall apart, never once looking away, as she arches her back and coos like a dove before slowly coming back to herself.

Bernie blushes under Serena’s gaze and nibbles her bottom lip. Pulls Serena towards her, claims her lips and runs fingers down her stomach. A hum courses through Serena the first time Bernie touches her: burns her veins from the inside. She slides onto her side and kinks her leg over Bernie’s hip. Keeps their lips millimetres apart as Bernie tests and teases until Serena break apart on Bernie’s eager, unsure fingers.

Eventually she open her eyes and sees Bernie in the lamplight: face flush with pride and fierce with want. Serena feels her heart burst open and she launches at Bernie: ferocious in her own need. Serena slides down the bed and licks her wet and filthy while Bernie laces her fingers through her hair and pulls: Serena thinks the weeks of torment were worth it as she laps at Bernie’s cunt. She drinks her fill, until Bernie is boneless and limp above her. Serena crawls up the bed, tangles her legs with Bernie’s, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

They wake up still wrapped around one another and both think this is happiest they have ever been.

 

*

 

They spend a lot of time indoors, during those first few weeks, in their top floor apartment of a terrace in the 6th arrondissement. It is small but not quite cramped: tiny kitchen and walls lined with bookshelves. It is cosy, just the two of them, but it could be freezing if not for the raging fire they had been blazing since they left England. They burn through a lot of firewood too; embers smouldering as they fall asleep in each other’s arms.

The weeks wear on and winter continues. They finally pull themselves out of bed and start exploring the city.They rug up in wooden coats and heavy scarves and huddle close: gloves too thick to allow hand holding but craving proximity nonetheless. The streets are reasonably empty, the locals are far too smart to walk in the cold, but solid boots prove no match for the ice and snow as they walk.

They are strolling down a largely deserted street, empty save for two grandmothers gossiping in a doorframe. One leans against a broom, swept ice clinging to the bristles and the rest in the gutter, listening intently as the other races ahead in a rapid fire French. Serena is used to understanding a fraction of things she hears on the street and barely registers the actual words of their their rather heated conversation as she walks beside Bernie.

“Alors, elle a été mordu!” the old woman says and Serena’s ears flair, hearing murder. She doesn’t resister the the end of the sentence and the old women’s laugh. Serena pounces on the poor unsuspecting speaker and starts jabbering broken French with a heavy smattering of English to offer her skills.

Bernie stands to the side, stricken with shock. Her panic is replaced with embarrassment when Serena start miming with her hands and Bernie intervenes: physically pulling Serena away as she apologises profusely over her shoulder. Bernie feels their eye boring holes into their backs as Serena dangles behind her like a kite. She drags them around the corner and out of eye-line of the two women and finally lets got of Serena’s elbow.

“What was that for?” Serena huffs as she straightens her coat.

“Umm, I know you had the best of intentions,” she starts. “But, umm, they weren’t saying what you thought they were saying.” Bernie explains what the two women, had, in fact, been discussing. Serena blinks.

“Their neighbour was bitten?”

“Oui.”

“By a dog?”

“Oui”

“Not murdered?”

“Non,” Bernie confirms before dissolving into hysterics and Serena wishes the ground would swallow her whole.

“Oh, je t’aime, ma petite Serena,” Bernie wheezes as she whips away the tears leaking from her eyes. 

Serena tenses, shocked — even she knows what that means —Bernie looks up. Sees the look on Serena’s face and realises what she just said. She freezes for a moment, then relaxes. “I do, you know,” she says, her face bright and resolved. “I love you, Serena Campbell.”

Serena’s heart lurches and she feels like crying. She looks around her shoulders to make sure the street is still empty. Pushes Bernie into a sheltered doorway and kisses her: fierce and hungry.

“I love you, too, Bernie Wolfe,” she says when they break apart, sparkling and breathless. “God, do I love you.”

 

*

 

After that Serena realised she really needs to sort out her frankly rubbish French. Bernie suggests they spend their time listening to native speakers and talking in French wherever possible. They start sitting in warm cafes and listening to gossip; drinking vats of caffeine as they concentrate on people talking into their coffee cups. Bit by bit Serena learns, and is even quite proud of her accent. Bernie is also thrilled with Serena’s progress particularly given how often she feels the practice of a rolling “r” vibrate against her thigh followed by the length of Serena’s tongue licking her clean.

Bernie reads her way through the bookshelf at the house and insist they go on a mission to overstock their collection. They walk around the arrondissement, finding a decent array of secondhand bookshops stashed away. They keep exploring and Serena all but demands they stop when she read “Shakespeare and Company” emblazoned above a shopwindow stacked to the brim with paperbacks. They walk into the musky atmosphere and hear a French greeting tinted by an American drawl ring out through the store. They reply, their English inflection obvious, and the woman smiles from behind the front counter.

“What can I do for you fine young ladies” she asks.

Bernie inquires about some book recommendations and wanders off, leaving Serena to make a new friend. They go back, every day for the next week: under the pretence of stocking up their bookshelf. Bernie actually looks for books and Serena relishes the chance to chat with someone who can correct her French: ends up with an invitation to join a gathering that evening.

They arrive at the gathering, prepared to introduce themselves as cousins, only to find themselves in such good company that friends is mostly certainly sufficient. Serena gossips about some of the more intriguing cases she worked on while Bernie focuses on the paintings decorating the house. Eventually she caught the eye of the host, a wonderfully charming middle aged flirt with a healthy obsession of Sappho. Both Bernie and Serena leave an impression on their sections of the party and leave in a wonderful mood. From then on their night are full of salons, dinners, drinks, and, of course, gayness and frivolity and each night they trudge home; happily rugged up and huddled together against the frosty night air.  
****

The first flits of springtime start to show and the streets fill as people venture out into the city again. They head to the market most mornings. They walk and smile and laugh as they sample the best produce the city has to offer. Occasional they hold hands, once they realise that their accented French is more likely to earn them a sneer that linked hands. They always leave when their wicker basket fills to the brim: they stroll home with their groceries hanging between them, both holding the basket one handed.

Bernie develops a great fondness for Parisian honey and her eyes sparkle every time she sees an apiarist. Serena suggests they make a hive on the roof but Bernie thinks the bother might be too much in the long run. Maybe one day, Bernie thinks out loud, if we ever decided to move, to a cottage or something. Serena pictures Bernie tall figure swaddled in white and face covered in mesh: she laughs and says she insists on it.

The decision does not stop Bernie smiling every time she sees a beekeeper, or the ensuring conversations in rapid fire french that always follow. Serena finds her a book on hive keeping and Bernie delights in researching.

Serena sees the new distraction as an opportunity to enjoy her own company for a while. She starts walking the city with her camera some afternoons. At first she relishes the choice not to photograph people. She focuses on places and spaces, lights and shadows, gardens and skies: anything and everything other than humans. The weather clears completely and Serena takes advantage of the light: travels the city extensively and photographs most of its inches.

Shoots most of the inches of their home as well. Cranes her neck up from the pavement outside, sun just peeking out from the roof to flare in Serena’s lens. Captures velvet texture of the winding stairs to their door and the bookshelves spilling over and washing hanging over makeshift clotheslines. Snaps the mess of a slept in bed and a half smoked cigarette sitting in the ashtray and the view of the city from their balcony.

 

*****

 

Serena wakes up late one morning to an empty but still warm bed. She blinks, curls herself out of bed, wraps herself in a housecoat. She catches a whiff of cigarette and walks over to the balcony, finds Bernie smoking with a book held loose in her hand and her legs propped up on the railing. She is staring up at the sky and off into the distance: completely oblivious to Serena’s present.

Serena retreats back inside, careful not to make a sound, and grabs her camera from the side table. She steps out onto the balcony and quickly aims the camera: snaps the photograph before Bernie has a chance to move. The shutter clicks loudly and Bernie turns her head. Purses her lips when she realises she has been caught unawares; says something particularly rude and accompanies her words with an equally rude gesture.

Serena’s mouth hangs open, mock scandalised, and Bernie honks: jumps up, grabs the camera out of Serena’s hand and snaps Serena’s gobsmacked face. Serena laughs in response, breaking out into a wide smile. Bernie snaps that too, lips pulled just as wide.

She puts the camera down in the table and puts out the cigarette in the pot plant. Pulls Serena towards her for a good morning kiss; guides her towards the bed for more good morning kisses. Serena looks down as Bernie, smirking up at her from between her legs, and thinks this is a very good morning indeed.

 

*****

 

After that Serena starts to warm up to photographing people again. Couples sitting in cafe windows or strolling through gardens catch her eye. She takes her camera to the next salon and captures women smiling and laughing and having a whale of time. Children playing in the street also turn her heard and her lens.

Midway though an outing, she stops halfway up a hill to lean against a wall and pant slightly. There is a school across the street and lunch has been called: there are children running and laughing in the playground and two boys play marbles in the middle of the space. Serena quickly snaps a few photograph and watches the children play as she catches her breath. She feels a need plant itself in her heart before she pushes off the wall and starts walking towards home.

She scrounges together a makeshift developing system for the negatives from the few materials she brought with her from England. Only a fraction of her rolls blow and negatives stack up to an obscene hight until Bernie offers to help darken the bathroom so Serena can print. Serena beams at the offer and between her supplies and the rest of the creatives in the area they manage to scrap together everything else she needs for a functioning darkroom. They spend a week converting the bathroom until it is finally readying for use on Friday night.

Serena spends the whole weekend in there, developing print after print and drying them on thin lines hanging in the kitchen. Bernie spends it out on the balcony, smoking and reading and watching the world below. By Monday each of Serena’s stacks of prints threaten to topple over and she takes a break. She spends the morning showing Bernie photographs: who marvels at the pictures of the city, laughs over the birds in parks, and gushes over the couple flirting over coffee.

“They’re all so beautiful,” Bernie says, carefully pulling the prints back in a neat pile. “I love them.”

Bernie leans over the stack with a sparkle in her eye and captures Serena’s lips in a hungry kiss. Takes her hand and leads them to bed; they spend the afternoon tangled in each other and the sheets.

They get up for dinner, Bernie cooks, and Serena looks at the photographs again. Serena stops at the shot of children playing marbles and feels the seed in her hear start to bloom.The feeling makes her panic, unsure of what to say, until she looks at Bernie currently dancing around the kitchen to a silent rhythm. Bernie catches her staring and stops, suddenly embarrassed. Serena stands up, walks over, and joins their hands. They waltz in the kitchen and Serena knows she will find the words eventually.

 

*

 

The weather has turned cool again as they lay in bed, sweat drying on their skin in the after glow of another marathon session of love making. There really is no other word for what they do, Serena thinks to herself, all warm and wet and tender and sweet.

She turns over onto her side and gazes up at Bernie leaning against the headboard. She is smoking, her chest bare and pale: the scar carved between her beasts even paler in the dim light. Her legs are wound up in the sheet and Serena can see her uncovered toes wiggling in the corner of her eye. Even now, distracted and unassuming, Serena can feel how much Bernie loves her.

The blossom flowering in her heart unfurls completely, bring with it a wave of want. The flash of courage that comes with it is unexpected but it fills Serena with resolve.

“Bernie, I want a child,” she says evenly. Silence follows, long and thick.

“Umm,” Bernie stammers. Looks down, blinks, looks away. Puts out the cigarette in the ashtray on the side table. Looks back. “What?”

“A child, I want one,” Serena says as she sits up: one leg stretched out and the other kinked beneath her. “I’ve been thinking about it a bit lately — no actually, I’ve been thinking about it quite a lot for a while now…” She trail off and Bernie draws her knees up to her chest to hug herself. “And, ah, I’d like to try adopting.”

Bernie relaxes slightly, opens her mouth to reply. Serena cuts her off, “but only if it’s something you might want too, obviously” she says hurriedly. “So, could you — could you think about it?” Bernie purses her lips. “Properly think about it, I mean. Take as much time as you need. Before you give me an answer, please?” Serena pleads.

“Okay,” Bernie says, the storm brewing behind her eyes settling to a calm. She looks at her knees, straightens her legs and pulls the covers up to chest. Turns her head to Serena. “I’ll think about it,” Bernie promises: her brow furrowed but her face soft. Serena nods, flicks off the light, sinks into the mattress. They fall asleep with their backs to one another.

 

*

 

Serena sleeps late the next day. Very late. Wakes up in a cold empty bed in a poorly lit flat and the her first thought is that Bernie has left her. She panics: her stomach drops and her heart races and her throat closes. It only lasts a few seconds, until she notices the note on the bedside table: she reads it quickly, her hands shaking the entire time.

“Serena,  
Woke early and couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t want to disturb you and I’m heading to the markets. I’ll be back soon.  
Bernie x”

Serena heave a sign of relief. Curls back up in bed, completely mortified at her overreaction. Feels a few tears tears escape despite herself; she hears the door open and she sits up in bed.

Bernie shuffles in and turns on the lights:puts the basket on the table. She stops when notices Serena is still in bed.

“What are you doing still in b— ” Bernie sees Serena’s red rimmed eyes and breaks off.“You’ve been crying, darling, what’s wrong?”

Serena stares down at her feet and wrings her hands.

“You left. I woke up and you were gone, ” Serena say. “I know you left a note but I didn’t see it right away and for a moment…worried.”

She hears Bernie’s sharp inhale of breath and then her footsteps towards the bed. She sits down on the corner of the bed and cup Serena’s cheeks. Bernie gently pulls their faces closer together and kisses her, soft and sweet and Serena melts against her with a sigh. She curls her arms around Bernie’s waist and draws her closer; on to the mattress and on top of Serena. Bernie moans as they stretch out on the bed and Serena kisses her harder.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” Bernie whispers when they finally break apart. “I had some thinking to do,” she explains.

“Oh, I see.” Hope flares in Serena’s heart. Bernie nods: rolls off Serena and the bed. Serena tries to quash the feeling because Bernie is in the kitchen unpacking and not looking at her. “And, ah, how did that go?”

“I took the long way home, through the Luxembourg gardens. I saw two women there, watching their children — they had a baby in a pram and two little boys were chasing pigeons on the gravel. They looked so happy, and and I couldn’t helps staring.”

“Then one of boys fell over and skinned his knee. I went over to see if I could help. They were all fine, of course. But they were so nice and we started talking and eventually I asked about the baby and whose she was. They said it was both of theirs really because they were best friends who married a pair of brothers and all they live in the same house and their children are best friends and basically siblings and they’re all one enormous family.” Bernie finally runs out of steam and pauses: abandons the unpacking, walks over to the bed and sits on the edge.

“I know it’s not quiet like us, but, umm, they were still best friends who had children together. And I’m not suggesting we marry a set of brothers or anything,” Bernie barks out a laugh, before turning serious again. “You said you wanted a child, Serena, but I want more than that. I want a family, with you, Serena, if…if that’s something you want too?”

“Yes,” Serena whispers, choking back a sob. “More than anything.”

She reaches out her arm, offering her hand to Bernie in the dim light. Bernie takes it and shuffles forward, tangles her fingers in Serena hair. They rest their foreheads against each other and look through bleary eyes. Bernie closes the distance between them and gently presses her lips to Serena. She pulls back smiling, and Serena pouches. Throws her legs over Bernie’s hips andpins her to the mattress: revelling in Bernie’s bark of delight at having the weight of Serena’s body on her. Bernie moans as Serena kisses her deeply, enters her deeply, loves her deeply.

 

*

 

Something changes between them after that: the worry lurking in the back of Serena’s mind all these months fizzles out to absolute calm while Bernie starts to jitter with excitement. Bernie goose honk sounds brighter and Serena’s catches herself smiling at nothing at all points in the day. They starting thinking of the practicalities: Bernie starts contacting real estate agents while Serena tasks herself with finding an orphanage that might accommodate them.

She writes letter after letter, sends them away. The replies she receives are a fraction of the amount she sends out but some are vaguely positive about her inquiries. The first orphanage Serena visits in person is an ordeal, to say the least. A gaggle of nuns meet her at the door and welcome her into the building: they take her to be unemployed and unmarried and interested in joining the convent. They barely mange to conceal their astonishment when she inquires about adoption and all but laugh her out of the office.

Serena comes home almost in tears and slams the door so hard the flat shakes.“They have children that need families and they won’t even consider us,” she yells in lieu of a greeting. She goes on about morality and legality and just largely huffs for the better part of an hour. Bernie listens in silence until she hears Serena sob, finally cracking, and bundles her in a fierce hug. Pulls them over to the bed and lies them down, stroking up and down Serena’s back while she cries.

It takes her two weeks before she works up the courage to try again. It goes marginally better than her first attempt in that no one tries to convert her to the convent. Serena tries another three before she gets fed up with the barely concealed sneers and muffled chuckles and goes home dejected and disappointed. Not even Bernie venturing out into an abby and using her status as an heiress with a great fortune to convince a pack of French nuns to change their minds.

She comes home and breaks the news.Serena’s heart sinks as the false hope that had previously kept is buoyant dissipates. It sinks even further when she realises they really only have one option if they want to follow through on their decision. And one option is just another way of saying no choice, as far as Serena is concerned.

Bernie works out her anger with housework and muttering to herself. Serena retreats to the balcony to mull over what needs to be said in her head. She tries a few whispered conversations to the pot plants but it does not really help. She goes back inside, still trying to find the best way to bring it up, when a snippet of Bernie’s still going rant offers her a branch.

“God, it’d be so much easier if we just had a baby!”

“We can,” Serena says, stopping Bernie’s tirade. “Well, I mean, I can.” Bernie turns and stares at her. “We’d just need a willing man for the night,” Serene explains with imploring eyes. She sees the moment Bernie picks up her meaning.

“You mean…” Bernie cannot quite bring herself to say it.

“If we…outsource that part of the labour,” Serena says reasonably, starts playing with her fingernails. “It would solve a lot of our problems.”

“I mean, yes, I know it would, but—” Bernie looks horrified.

“I mean it’s not ideal, but we both know it really is the only way we can make this happen,” Serena says reasonably. “Unless you fancy kidnapping a child?”

Bernie lets out a wet chuckle. “No, of course I don’t.”

“And this is something we both want, right?” Serena asks. Bernie nods jerkily: sits down with a heavy thump.

“And, it’s not like I haven’t done it before,” Serena points what she thinks is a perfectly valid point. “One night wouldn’t be the end of the world.” She is so focused on the logical arguments leading to a final outcome she misses the absolute turmoil playing out over Bernie’s face. 

“What if you remember how much you like it, having others?” Bernie voice is quiet. “What if it ends up being more than you thought, and you don’t want me anymore?” Her voice cracks. Serena can hear the tears welling in her eyes and the argument raging in Bernie’s head.

They have talked about this, past lovers, briefly and in passing. About how Bernie never really enjoyed the few times she let Marcus have her any more than she enjoyed the attention of the few boys who tried to charm their ways under her skirt before her engagement. About how she looked at women but never touched: never quite understanding the link between the ache in her heart and the ache between her legs.

They have talked about how Serena had enjoyed the men who charmed her, very much. About how she enjoyed how they worked their way into her bed, just as much as she enjoyed seducing the few women she had before Bernie. About how she enjoyed the touching and having and wanting of her younger years: enjoyed it all immensely.

But Serena had never talked about the fact that every one of those nights in her wayward youth, raw and sweaty and vigorous and passionate, all pale in comparison to the nights she spends with Bernie. Bernie whose smile makes her heart sing. Bernie who touches her like she is something precious. Bernie who mouths at the crook of her neck as she enters Serena with three fingers; whispers “I love you” when she feels Serena come around her hand. The beautiful, kind, caring woman Serena knows she is completely in love with and will be for the rest of her life.

She looks at Bernie now, unsure and worried at the thought of not being enough. Serena thinks perhaps she should have said more than just “I love you, too” and resolves to now. 

“No, the will never happen,” Serena says as she kneels and tangles their fingers together. “Bernie you are _everything_ to me,” she says vehemently. “I’m prepared to do this because I want a child, nothing more. But wanting a child doesn’t cancel out me wanting you,” Serena pauses, shaky breaths. “I will never stop wanting you.”

Bernie looks up, obviously overwhelmed, her face small and bright and slightly soggy. Her mouth falls opens but a haggard breath comes out in lieu of words. Serena presses a finger against Bernie’s open bottom lip to shush her: delights when a tongue darts out, unthinking reflex, and hums when a warm mouth closes around the digit.

Serena retrieves her hand and replaces it with her lips; kisses Bernie long and hard. Kisses her until she feels Bernie soften in her arms. Kisses her until she feels Bernie quivering against her body. Kisses her until she feels that Bernie finally, _finally,_ understands that she is forever.

 

*

 

The worry returns to Serena’s mind but she does not raise the topic again. Instead she waits for Bernie to come to her. It takes a day or two of highly coiled nerves but when Bernie clears her throat that evening, as she stacking the dishes after dinner, Serena knows that patience was the right choice.

“You’re right, it really is the best thing to do,” Bernie says as she puts the plates in the sink. “And if you’re okay with it, then, umm, so am I.”

Serena races into the kitchen and kisses Bernie against the bench. They break away, breathless and beaming, before Bernie turns serious again.

“And, umm, I know that sometimes it can take a while for these things to happen.” Her toes shuffle awkwardly.

“Yes,” Serena agrees, pursing her lips. “I’m rather hoping it doesn’t come to that.”

“But, umm, if it takes more than one night, then, it — then it takes more than one night.”

“And you’re sure?”

“Absolutely,” Bernie says, resolute. “Whatever it takes.”

“We’re going to have a baby,” Serena says with wet eyes. She leans forward and rests her forehead against Bernie’s, closes her eyes as the realisation really hits her. Bernie’s hand rubs tiny circles on the small of her back as they breathe in silence.

“So who would be the father?” Bernie asks into Serena’s hair, breaking the moment. Serena pulls back and pins her with a stare.

“The baby wouldn’t have one,” she says simply.

“You know what I mean. Who would, contribute, to the child?”

“I was thinking Harold, actually.” She named one of their friendlier male acquaintances. “He’s kind enough, and he’s handsome enough, and I think he fancies me enough to do it if I ask.”

“Oh, I see. Handsome. Umm, yes, he seems fine.”

“Bernie, he wouldn’t mean a thing to me but I’d prefer someone who doesn’t completely repulse me.”

“Well, umm, that, umm, seems fair.”

Serena looks are Bernie’s vain attempt to put on a brave face and bursts out laughing. Bernie looks at her like she has grown another head, then bursts out laughing too. They dissolve into a pile of giggles on the kitchen floor and laugh and laugh and laugh: until Serena is in tears and Bernie’s throat is hoarse.

 

*

 

The arrangements are made promptly and subtly. Serena was right, he did fancy her enough to agree. Serena organises to have brunch at his house the next week, making it clear she has no desire to spend the night. The day arrives and Serena leaves. Bernie sits warm in front of the fire drinking; stops at dinner time to eat and trades the whisky for water.

Serena comes home late: her forehead furrowed and mouth tight. She does not greet Bernie; goes straight to the bathroom and starts washing herself. Bernie leans against the door frame. The traces of whisky still in her stomach light up as the jealousy that has been burning all day blazes. 

“Was it any good?” She lost Serena for the day and the thought makes her words harsher than she intends. “I mean, how did it, umm, go?”

Serena ruffles at the tone, before shaking it off with the droplets rolling down her back. “It was…fine,” she says evenly, grabs a towel to dry herself. Turns to Bernie and decides to be honest. “God, no, it was hideous,” she huffs. “I’d forgotten the grunt noise they make. You were worried I might not want you afterwards and you couldn’t have been more wrong.”

Serena turns, standing naked in the soft glow of the lamp: moonlight streaming in through the top window. “I _more_ than want you, Bernie, I need you. I need my hands on you and in you. I need to taste you, Bernie, and I need to hear you. Come to bed with me, please?”

Lust courses though Bernie’s veins as she listens and feels the jealous burn smoulder into longing. She beckons Serena towards her and kisses her thoroughly. She does not protest when Serena pushes her backwards, pins her down and strips her bare, and runs her fingers over every inch of her. She trembles when Serena drags her teeth over the scar tissue on her neck. Gasps when a hot mouth envelops her nipple. Whimpers when Serena runs a her tongue over the scar between her breasts and cries when Serena whispers I love you over her heart.

Serena lays her out on the bed, spreads Bernie wide and kisses hot and filthy up her thigh. She buries her face deep: licking and sucking and flicking her tongue until Bernie is a shuddering mess and comes with a groan. Serena does not stop: presses her nose against Bernie’s clit and her tongue into Bernie’s cunt over and again till Bernie is thrashing and grinding down on her face. She comes again, long and loud, and it is still not enough: for either of them.

Serena slides in a finger, two, three: feels Bernie clench around her knuckles as she cants her hips upwards coming hard: spasming and wet. The shuddering subsides and Serena does not stop, pummels Bernie as she begs for more: four fingers deep and stretching. Serena takes a nipple in her mouth and presses a thumb again her clit and Bernie begs for more still. Serena stops and Bernie sobs. She slides up Bernie’s body and runs her tongue over a collarbone.

“Are you sure?” she whispers in Bernie ear. She feels Bernie nod her head and Serena starts moving her hand again, gently. She sucks on her ear lobe and Bernie groans. She releases it with a pop, shakes her head as she thumbs Bernie’s clit. “Tell me, Bernie,” she breaths over her neck and Bernie shudders at the puffs of air on her skin.

“Yes, Serena, please,” she gasps, chest heaving with the effort of filling her too small lungs with enough air to talk. “I want all of you, please.”

Serena feels a shiver run down her spine. Presses the fingers of her left hand against Bernie’s mouth, feels a tongue swirl around one set of knuckles and a shudder around the other. Serena sits back on her haunches and sees so much of her hand buried inside Bernie it makes her throb. She brings her fingers to Bernie’s clit and slowly massages: tiny firm circles as she drops her thumb. Pulls her fingers out slightly, drenched and sticky, curls her palm and slowly, painstakingly, presses her fist into Bernie.  
****

Bernie gasps, moans, quivers: her thighs shake and she throws her elbow across her face. She pushes down on Serena’s hand: feels so full with fingertips so deep in her and so firm on her. Bernie writhes and circles and grinds her hips. Serena twists her fingers and curls her wrist while Bernie rasps deep in her throat. She begins to flutter around her hand and Serena stills; dips her head to flick her tongue over Bernie.

Bernie comes: gushing around Serena's fist and up her arm over her chin and on her face. Serena comes: hard and blinding and moaning into Bernie's centre. She feels Bernie gently pulse around her hand and she pulls out slowly, gingerly; lightly lapping as Bernie hums through the aftershocks. Serena wipes her face on the sheet and kisses her way up to Bernie’s face and looks into shining eyes. Settles next to Bernie’s limp body, pulls over the covers, and hears a deep, rumbling laughter bubble up from somewhere deep in her lover’s heart.

 

*

 

Tension fills the flat, anticipation and nerves worrying both of them. They wait and wait and wait with baited breath. Then food starts turning Serena’s stomach and the nausea hits. Serena makes a doctor’s appiontment and comes home with the widest, brightest smile Bernie has ever seen.

She starts looking for a house in earnest: makes a shortlist to show Serena on her good days. They work through the shortlist together but Serena never agreed to any of them, not even the little cottage with the huge garden on the outskirts of Paris that stole Bernie’s breath away.

The weeks pass and the sickness subsides and they start rugging up every day and still they cannot agree on where to live. Bernie cannot for the life of her figure out why until they are having tea after dinner one night.

“Did you really mean it when you said you wanted to leave England behind completely?” Serena mumbles over her cup. Bernie starts at the unexpected question.

“Umm, well, I certainly meant it at the time,” she replies. “but I haven’t really given it much thought after that. Why?” She thinks she knows what is coming but it is still surprising to hear Serena actually say it.

“I want to go back to England. I know it’ll be sad to leave our friends here, but I think I’d like to start afresh. And the baby would be easier to explain with a new group of people.”

“Yes, we could make up a story about your long lost lover who drowned at sea if you like.” Bernie laughs.

“We’ll do nothing of the sort.” Serena smirks, twinkle in her eye. “I know you didn’t expect to go back, but when I was younger and I thought about having children I always imagined raising them when I grew up, in Holby.”

“Umm, actually, I did too. In my house, actually.”

“Really?”Serena asks and Bernie nods.“Shame we can’t move back there then.”

“Umm, we can, actually,” Bernie shuffles awkwardly. “When I said I’d settled everything I didn’t mean I’d sold the house I, umm, I couldn’t bear to sell my Father’s estate so I kept the groundskeeper on to maintain it. It’s still there, if you, I mean, we could go back?”

“Raise a baby in the house you grew up in?” Serena’s eyes sparkle. “It sounds perfect.”

Bernie smiles. “Yes, it does rather, doesn’t it.”

 

*

 

Bernie spends the next day writing letters: to their current landlord giving notice, to her lawyers to ensure all the legal factors are still in order, to thank the groundskeeper for his services and to notify him of her intentions to return to the house. She sends them off that afternoon.

She start packing the next morning, with Serena helping between her naps. The flat is bare of everything but their essentials and the furniture the came with the flat by the time Bernie receives her replies. The lawyers say that legally everything is as it should be and the groundskeeper reassures her the estate has been well looked after and will be ready for her arrival. They send their belongings ahead of them and leave before the week’s end.

The trip back is tedious and Serena is sick the whole time. Bernie wonders if it is the baby or the boat; after two hours of walking through a market on dry land she sees a smiling Serena in front of her and decides it was the boat. They get a cab from the port to the train station — another long trip and Serena falls asleep on her shoulder — another cab from the train station to the estate. Bernie goes quiet as the drive wears on, staring out the window as the sun falls in the sky.

They turn into a gravel drive lines with trees. The cab stops in front of the house and Serena pays the fare as Bernie clamours out of the car to get their luggage. She dumps it all at the foot of the front stairs and goes back to help Serena out of the car.

The cab drives away as they shuffle towards the luggage. Bernie stops for a moment and stares at the house and Serena stands beside her. Bernie looks at the Wolfe Family estate: two stories of stone and glass and ivy, grass thick and green and the garden not quite wild and overgrown but close. It is exactly how she left it and Bernie feels a sense of comfort wash over her. Serena thinks she might feel it too.

“I guess I should say welcome home?” Serena asks.

“Yes, it’s, ah, it’s good to be back,” Bernie says, hiding her eyes under her fridge. “Let’s get these things inside then eat, I’m famished.”

Thankfully the house is clean — the groundskeeper had hired someone on Bernie’s behalf — and only the faintest trace of musk staining the air. But while the house is void of dust all the furniture is still covered in sheets. The walk through the house and up the stairs, and Bernie panics about sleeping for a moment: already too tired to think about fresh linen and pillows and blankets and making up a bed. She is relieved to find the master room is already made up, fire prepared and ready for lighting, even if Bernie feels odd about sleeping in her father’s old room. She vows to reorganise the rooms at some stage. 

They eat a picnic of cold meats and bread and cheese and crackers on the floor of the bedroom: thankful they thought to buy snacks while they walked off their sea legs. They strip to their underwear, too tired to change clothes properly, and crawl into bed. They fall asleep spooning, Bernie arms wrapped Serena and her bump.

 

*

 

Serena insists of a guided tour of the house the next morning and they spend the day exploring. With each new room Serena asks for details, which Bernie gives freely, and childhood stories, which Serena has to bribe out of her with kisses. Bernie’s childhood bedroom prompts the most curiosity from Serena and the most stubbornness from Bernie: Serena can barely get a story out of her so she start sleuthing around the room.

The wardrobe and chest of draws are bare. She does not find much in the bookshelves except children's books either, though she does note that Beatrix Potter feature prominently. She opens the ottoman at the bottom of the bed and gapes when she finds it filled to the brim with stuffed toys. She looks up and Bernie and asks if they all have names and gets a pillow to the back for her troubles. Serena gives the ensuing pillow fight her best but it really is a subpar display; she lies on the bed and the takes a few gentle thumps with grim good humour. 

They curl up on top of the covers and nap, until Serena wakes up with a craving and kisses Bernie awake. Bernie flushes when Serena starts tickling her stomach and shakes her head. Serena stops with a mock pout and Bernie swallows it with a kiss. They get up and pad down to the kitchen, rummaging through the house and realise the pantry is completely empty.

“There’s nothing for it,” Serena says with conviction. “We’ll just _have_ to go out so some fancy restaurant and eat ourselves silly.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right. We must,” Bernie says with an equally straight face. They manage to hold them for a few moments before breaking out into wide smiles. “We can deal with the kitchen tomorrow,” Bernie suggests as they head upstair to get ready.

Their belongings arrive a few days later in crates and boxes delivered to the house. They boxes are accompanied by “a pack of strapping young lads,” according to Serena. Bernie laughs as Serena watches them cart their things up the stone stairs and into the house, playfully slapping her shoulder when she starts waggling her eyebrows.

The lads leave and they start unpacking: Bernie sets herself the library while Serena flits around with the decorating. They had managed to collect quite a lot of art during their time in Paris and the walls of the house soon run out of free space. Bernie is still occupied with reorganising the library by the time Serena is finished.

She wanders through the house, finds an old study that reminds her of her old office and lays claim to it. Sets about writing letters to the half a dozen friends she actually wants to reconnect with. Bernie finds her there later that afternoon, still writing and looking perfectly at home: says as much and Serena blushes.

“Sorry, I just thought—“

“It’s wonderful,” Bernie cuts her off. “This _is_ your home, after all.”

“Ours,” Serena says with a smile, her hand falling to her stomach. “It’s our home.”

Bernie tears up slightly and offers a hand out to Serena. She pulls her up into a hug and sighs when she feels Serena burrow her face into the crook of her neck.

 

*

 

Morven is the first to reply, surprised and overjoyed to hear Serena is back in the country. She visits one afternoon, bottle of wine in hand. She takes one look at Serena’s waddle and shrieks: drops the bottle on the gravel and practically jumps for joy.

“Morven, this is Bernie,” Serena introduces. Morven starts, obviously confused, but recovers quickly.

“Oh, um, hello!” she says brightly. “Sorry, when you said Bernie I assumed you meant a man, but, ah, obviously not.” She pauses. “Ah, is there, um —” she gestures to Serena’s stomach and Bernie picks up her meaning.

“No, it’s just us.”

“Well that’s, um, brilliant have you got any cake?” she blurts out in a rush.

Serena and Bernie both blink, before all three bursting out laughing. Bernie picks up the stray bottle of wine and throws an arm over Morven’s shoulder. Serena slips an arm around Moven’s waist and Morven does the same: they walk into the house still chuckling.

They set up afternoon tea in the garden. They talk about Paris and Morven listens in rapture when stuffing herself with teacake. Eventually there is a lull in conversation and she ventures a question.

“So have you though about names yet?” A spot of icing sits in the corner of her mouth. The two flush awkwardly and stumble over their words.

“Umm, we haven’t really discussed it, to be honest,” Serena admits. “What with the moving and all, we haven’t really had a chance.”

“Why don’t we decide when we get there?” Bernie suggest. “Like, after the baby is born. Then it’ll be like they helped chose the name too.”

“Oh, that’s precious.” Morven smiles, helping herself to more cake.

“Right, well, I reserve the right to final say,” Serena says, punctuating the phrase with a nod. “I am to the one doing all the heavy lifting after all,” Serena preens.

“Of course, darling.” Bernie laughs and kisses her cheek. “Anything you say.”

 

*****

 

The driveway sees a lot of company over the next few weeks.

Serena is having a nap in the garden early one evening while Bernie weeds a flower bed in the last of the days sun. She wakes up to the sound of tires on gravel: sees Ric getting out of his car and calls him over, still bleary eyed. Bernie ditches the gardening gloves to join and Serena makes the introductions. His confusion lasts a little longer that Morven’s but after a few moments he too takes the news in his stride. Gives his congratulations and stays for dinner.

Later that week Serena walks out of the house to seen Bernie and a stranger carry wooden boxes from a van into the garden. She sets up the boxes in the back corner of the garden, as far from the house as possible.

“I, umm, I bought some hives,” Bernie explains when Serena walks over to her. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to do anything with them yet, but I think I will one day, and I like having the option.”

Serena laughs. “As long as you promise to wear protection.” Bernie nods emphatically and says she already has some waiting for her in the shed.

Raf visits the next week, having already written to ask if he and friend could call in. Serena’s mouth falls open when recognises Fletch in the car beside him. Conversely, neither Raf or Fletch blink an eye at Serena’s bump or Bernie as they walk up to the house.

They stay for tea and cake: Serena and Raf catching up and Fletch and Bernie getting acquainted. Bernie is talking about how odd it is to be in the house with no pets; Fletch mentions he is currently in possession of a litter of labradors that need a new home. Bernie perks up when he asks of they would be interested and looks at Serena with huge eyes that make her heart melt. Fletch gives them his address before the two of them leave and tells them to pop round tomorrow.

By the time they arrive at Fletch’s the next afternoon there are only two left of the litter. Bernie crouches down to play with one of the pups and Serena notes the striking resemblance between the two. She tells Bernie, who huffs and mock sulks, before one of the pups jumps up and starts licking her face. She falls on her arse and the other puppy joins in the face licking. Serena and Fletch laugh themselves to tears as Bernie struggles to get the over-active puppies to stop dancing on her chest.

In the end neither Serena nor Bernie can bear to break up the two and they end up taking them both. Bernie decides on calling them Charlie and Cam: names that Serena becomes all to familiar with over the next few weeks as Bernie struggles to house train them. They finally begin to settle down when Bernie starts running them every day. Serena does not even try to hide her delight at the silence in the house now that Bernie is yelling out their dog's name with alarming frequent, or the dishevelled and flushed post-jog appearance Bernie sports when they return from their exercise.

Bernie keeps seeing wild fields of early springtime blooms on her runs and resolves to fill her hives. She finds an apiarist not far from the house with numbers to spare and the keeper agrees to divide their colony. Bernie spends a few days sorting out the essentials and another few days preparing her flowerbeds.

Things go swimmingly for a few weeks, until one afternoon when she is puttering around in the garden. The bees mistake her face for a sunflower and the hive swarms. Bernie runs, through the garden and over the fence. Runs and runs and runs until the bees are too tired and too far from home to bother about the moving flower and settle in a nearby field overgrown with plenty of sedentary pollen.

Bernie walks home, exhausted and sticky. Serena is in the garden when she gets home and Bernie grumbles an explanation when she asks her where she has been. She huffs when Serena starts laughing and sneers as she walks through the yard. It still grumbling when she gets out of the bath an hour later. Serena looks up from her book when she walks into the bedroom, glower still on her face. Serena starts chucking again and puts the book to one side: reaches over to yank Bernie onto bed. Bernie finally cracks a smile as a nose tickles her neck.

 

*****

 

The due date grows closer and Serena grumbles about feeling like she swallowed a house. They organise for a home birth and pray that everything goes according to plan when the time comes. A time that arrives a week earlier than anticipated.

Serena is getting up to make tea after dinner when her waters break. She almost slips in the puddle on the floor. Bernie helps her into the living room and lies her down in the bundle of fresh blankets. She keeps a calm face but cringes every time Serena groans: tries to tell some jokes until Serena pins her with a stare and tells her, in no uncertain terms, to shut up and go call the midwife.

The hours roll on and the dogs bark from the other side of the house every time Serena cries out until Bernie banishes them outside for the night. Eventually the calvary arrives and tries to shoo Bernie out of the room. Serena goes quite: shakes her head vigorously.

“I’m not leaving her,” Bernie says, low and dangerous. The midwife take one look at Bernie’s face and audibly swallows: she does not mention it again.

The hours pass in a haze of sweat and tears and agony and excitement. By the time it is over Bernie thinks there might be hairline fractures in her hand from Serena’s grip strength; Serena thinks she might have strained her vocal chords and feels so stretched she might be torn. The midwife goes off to wash the baby, leaving the two alone.

Bernie strokes Serena’s hair as she lies there, exhausted and gasping for breathe, until the nurse comes back with the baby. Bernie fluffs up a pile of cushion; Serena shuffles to sit up and hisses — she is definitely torn — before settling. She holds out her arms and the midwife passes the baby over. She leaves the room as Serena cuddles the bundle to her chest. Bernie rearranges the nest of blankets and shuffles closer to Serena, enveloping both her and the baby in a loose embrace.

She kisses Serena on the cheek and draws back, watches her coo at the infant with blurry eyes.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Bernie asks.

“Elinor?” Serena whispers softly. “If you like it?”

“I do.” Bernie looks at the baby, reaches over to tap her nose. She snuffles, as if in agreement. “I like it very much.”

“Hello, Elinor,” Serena says, looks down at the bundle and weeps softly. “I’m your mother.” She looks at Bernie, their faces inches apart. “And so is she,” she says, never breaking eye contact. Serena smiles a tiny, bright, exhausted smile: rest her head on Bernie’s shoulders, closes her eyes, and breathes deep.


End file.
